


Blurred Years

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Betrayal, Character Death, F/M, Gore, Incest, Loss, Love, Multiple Relationships, R plus L equals J, Sexual Content, Swearing, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:03:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 63,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4987624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is honour compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms . . . or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.</p><p>Jon Stark commands the Queensguard of the Targaryen Queen Daenerys, ruler of Westeros with the consort Robb Stark.</p><p>                                                                                  <strong>ON HIATUS</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty then. This FanFic was originially posted on FF.NET. But I've been using this site a lot more lately so I decided to bring it over here, it's still in progress and I hope you enjoy.

**Chapter 1**

The morning rays flew through the room and laid across the bedchamber, a beam found itself across the bed in order to reveal the Lord Commander of the Queensguard.

He dared to wipe the blurriness from his vision, swiping away any sleep that may have remained. It had been a long time since he'd slept full, duties in his position often went beyond the boundaries of the night.

He arose from the bed with a small gasp, the recently stitched scar at the side of his hip still squirmed a little. The black hair was thick on his face and grew into a small beard, he often debated whether to shave it off but he became rather accustomed to it.

After bathing and cleaning, he finally stepped into the room where his armour stood tall on a mannequin. The golden armour with the white cloak fluttering at the back, it had become a  _second skin_  to him, and it was part of who he now was.

Reapplying always went in the same order and at the end he would attach his  _Valyrian steel_ sword to his belt. Carrying his helm in hand, he finally opened the large doors from his bedchamber's. The sounds of people talking and laughing rushed into his ears, he couldn't help smile at the good atmosphere that now rested in Red Keep, the sounds became even louder as he descended deep into the halls.

* * *

"Yes, your grace." The Lord Commander agreed, the Targaryen Queen Daenerys  _Stormborn_ of the House Targaryen stood across from him, along with two other of the Queensguard and her Hand. They were all stood in her official chambers.

"Don't you think it would be for the best?" Dany looked over to Tyrion, the Hand of the Queen.

"Yes,  _but_  perhaps you could increase the taxes in order to support the building plans.." Tyrion took a sip from his early morning beverage, holding the chalice firmly in his hands.

Dany rested back in her chair, the silver-platinum hair pressed between the velvet and her back. She suddenly gaped forward, shuffling through the papers on her desk and finally finding a large piece that she held open. It was a mild shade of yellow, the edges gathered with dirt clearly showed it was rather old and ignored.

"Your grace," The Lord Commander began "If you raise the taxes, the lords will come shouting and complaining. There are more important things to be taken care of-"

Tyrion poked his head forward and stared across at him "Since when did the  _Lord Commander_ bother himself with the politics and plans?" His eyes beamed against him.

"I'm just giving my opinion that is all." He moved back into his statue like stature, feeling dismissed and rather embarrassed. The Queen turned her head slowly to look at him, a small smile reaching the corners of her mouth.

"You're right." She told him, still holding the paper in her hand "There are more important matters to focus on  _without_ the complaints of the Lords.."

Tyrion placed the cup back onto the table beside him, resting back and interlacing his fingers at his lap.

"Perhaps you should take a trip, your grace." Tyrion announced out of the blue, her violet gaze met his and she stared in a small form of shock.

"Why? Why would I?" Dany let go of the paper to gesture her confusion "I need to be here to sort things."

" _Things_ are already sorted, your grace. Peace has flourished through the realm for the past 3 years, there is no harm in having a rest. A  _needed_ one especially." Tyrion smirked as the Queen caught his point, he could see the realisation in her smile.

"Well, where would I be  _resting_?" Dany laughed, now leaning forward over the table fully intrigued by the idea.

"Wherever you may please." Tyrion smiled back.

"Winterfell is a nice place." The Lord Commander was away in his thoughts, a smile ear to ear as he thought of the icy castle.

"I have only once been to the North." Dany arose from her chair slowly, staring back at the two in excitement.

"Then a second trip would be a great experience for you, you and the King." Tyrion now sat up, the Lord Commander smile slowly fell from his face, something suddenly bothered him yet he resisted to speak his thoughts.

" _Is_ Winterfell nice?" Dany swept towards the Lord Commander of her guard, her main and most trusted protector. "Is it beautiful?"

He shrugged his shoulders and stared down in her now scorching eyes, a rest was definitely what she needed, even if she didn't fully know it. "Depends on what you like." He told her with a smile.

Their eyes met for a moment, trapped by each other. He could see her clear excitement as her iris seemed like it was swirling, but he quickly averted his gaze as the stare seemed to grow long and awkwardly obvious.

"I think you'd like it…. And I would be honoured to go back there." He clasped tightly on his helm, his other hand around the grip of his sword.

"Winterfell it is." She turned back to her desk, staring with a smile at Tyrion. "Jon Stark has a good way of convincing."

* * *

Jon Stark was the Lord Commander of the Queensguard, legitimised by the crown and placed as the leader of the most honourable guard in the realm. It was when his older brother Robb was requested by the new Queen that he was brought to Kings Landing, ever since then he was enrolled into the order and groomed for command by Ser Barristan Selmy. Once he retired the position Jon took it upmost enthusiasm and now commands the guard honourably to protect the Queen.

Jon followed Dany as she moved outside to the pits for her dragons, slowly unlocking the doors in order for them to sprawl free that day.

The sight of the enormous creatures overwhelmed him at first, he would hold his sword grip tight in case they suddenly sprung out of control. But his thoughts were changed when he was met with a close encounter with the fiercest, black Drogon, whom only bowed his large figure before him. Dany was sure that the dragons would never harm those who protected her, and she was right in her belief.

Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion leaped free with a symphony of screeches. Spiralling into the air and blowing clouds of fire which they would fly through. They stood in awe at the sight, every time was like the first time they had ever seen them.

"I always forget how big they are.." Jon looked back down from the dragons.

Dany was still however tranced by her  _children,_ staring up as the creatures flew freely. They disappeared of behind one of the turrets of the Red Keep, fading into the sky. Only then did the Queen move her head down.

"They would be bigger, but I can't let them roam freely anymore." Dany sighed "Not all the time."

Jon felt the need to assure her, he knew by now that she was very sensitive  _yet fierce_  when it came to the dragons, she shared such a unique connection with them.

"You made the right decision, your grace. They are happy with what they have." Dany turned back slowly and started to walk back up the steps.

"I wish I could bring them to Winterfell." The sadness in her tone was still dominant, her eyes stuck on the white flares bouncing of Jon's armour.

"Dragons don't like the cold, your grace." Jon tried to cheer her up at least, a smile on his face which wasn't returned.

" _Dany."_

"What?" Jon stared back in confusion, she brought up her eyes to stare at him.

"Dany, my name. I always tell you yet you seem to forget." Her voice was a little brighter.

"Oh sorry, Dany. I'm just so used to it." They laughed and ascended up the stairs that lead back to the Keep, the tower gave a small shade which held a great coolness. Jon couldn't wait to go the North, back in the cold which he liked.

* * *

A few days passed and the 'rest' was finally ready to be had. Carriages and horses aliened down a strip of road outside Kings Landing, Jon sat mounted on his steed and next to him his brother Robb, the King.

"You looking forward to it?" Robb tapped his shoulder, catching Jon's attention.

"Yes, it's been too long."

"It has. Arya will be running rampant with excitement once she finds out." Robb stared forward again as the possessions were loaded into the storage units for travel.

"Not now I imagine, I heard she's grown a lot." Jon smiled at his brother and the thought of his dear sister.

"I've missed home.." Robb whispered slowly, just loud enough for Jon to hear.

The King was rather quiet and distant lately, often not appearing in court or anywhere for that matter.

"This is your home now? With the Queen?" Jon was trying to bring him around, but his words seemed to meet no success.

Robb ushered his horse forward and began a small trot, staring back for a small moment. "Winterfell will always be  _our_ home."

The words were true, yes. But Jon didn't see it the exact same light as his brother. His step-mother Catelyn had always hated him whenever he was there, only when he joined the Queensguard did she show an ounce of warmth, out of what,  _proudness?_ His father Eddard he hadn't seen in what seemed like a life time, they grew resistant to each other after Jon left for the Night's Watch, he wish that his father would've told him what it was like.

But yet he still was looking forward to it, let the moments come  _he thought._ Suggesting Winterfell for a trip was more truthfully just so he could finally reconcile with his family, living each day on unsure feelings was quite unsettling.

Robb disappeared off into the middle carriage, the one plastered with Targaryen banners and sigils.  _The Royal one,_ it would often be called.

Jon joined the formation behind, following on horseback with the rest of his guard. He could see the silver strands through small gaps in the back, he watched them closely until they disappeared from his vision.

* * *

_Winterfell_

It was exactly the same as when he left it, when he looked over his shoulder to see it grow smaller in the distance all those years ago. The towering structures and huge grey walls, the thick cold Northern air surrounding, it was a beautiful stench to those who were familiar with it. As expected small patches of snow were peppered around the fields, Jon hadn't seen snow in a long time, since he was a  _snow_ in fact.

They entered through the gates and came to a stop as the doors on the  _Royal_ carriage flew open. Robb jumped down the steps, his face was red with anger and his eyes narrowed with frustration. Jon immediately took notice and dropped from his horse, attempting to reach his brother but he was already lost around the carriage. Dany suddenly emerged, Jon came to a stop of his pursuit and quickly ushered a small smile. It was his duty, oath to accompany the Queen, his brother would have to come second.

They were met by rows of people all gathered in the main courtyard, at the front Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Catelyn, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon. They had all changed over the past years, all took on a large growth spurt.

"Your grace." Ned Stark bowed, his hair resting down against the head of his cloak. With him the rest of the people followed his action.

"Lord Stark." Dany smiled at him, she looked over the children and smiled even more. It wasn't the first time she'd met them, once in Kings Landing she had, but they were much younger then.

Jon was waiting for one of them to notice him behind his helm, but they seemed to have their eyes all plastered on the Queen.

"The King?" Catelyn forged a smile as she searched for her son, she wore a thick blue dress that flayed at the bottom from the mud and puddles of Winterfell.

"He was with me a moment ago, I think he went inside." Dany said in a distracted tone and hugged Arya, they were now at the same height. Arya had grown most out of them, with long dark hair flowing down her back and glistening eyes which were a shade of grey and blue.

"Jon." A content voice suddenly called, much to Jon's shock his father stood staring at him. They met with a large hug, Jon's armour melted into the furs of his father's cloak and they smiled at each other. Everything seemed forgiven.

"Father, I've missed you." Jon took of his helmet, his mane of black locks fell around his head and he pushed them back quickly.

"Oh Jon.." Catelyn hugged him so suddenly, wrapping her arms around him and holding tight. It was a new feeling to him, but a welcoming warmth spread through his body. Catelyn moved back to stare at him, "You've grown."

Arya turned her gaze to see her brother in the golden armour, the white cape dropping to his feet and the rest of her family surrounding him.

"Jon!" Arya jumped through her siblings and latched onto Jon's large figure, resting her cheek against his freezing cuirass. Her arms gathered above the cloak, she squeezed him tightly. She may have grown hugely from the last time he saw her, but at this moment she was again his favourite little sister.

"You've grown." Jon said happily as he rested his chin on the crown of her head, their eyes were closed and they revelled in the presence of each other.

As Arya moved back she quickly reached under her cloak and began to pull out a small fine blade.

"I still have it." Arya told her brother as  _Needle_ came swiping out into the air, Jon only smiled even more and kissed her forehead.

"I see you have a new sword." Arya's attention was caught by the white wolf head on the pommel, her eyes widened with excitement as Jon took hold of the grip and began to lift it out.

Jon held it up sternly, the light flickered off the edges as he moved it side to side. " _Longclaw,_ it's Valyrian steel."

Arya lifted her hand out slowly, skimming her fingers down the patterns of the fuller. "Later." Jon sheathed the sword and the light dimmed with it, "We'll do some training, later?"

Arya nodded her head quickly, it had been the longest time since she'd practiced with someone, out of all of her siblings at Winterfell none of them wanted to ever spar or train.

"Come." Ned insisted and began to walk forward, the Queen and the rest of mass at Winterfell followed.

* * *

The feast was held in the hall of Winterfell, rows and rows of tables smothered with people, food and endless amounts of drinks. At the top upon a small stage sat the Queen, King, Ned and Catelyn, at the end Jon sat staring into nothingness and swigging chalices of wine.

Feasts and such were never too appealing to him, he would always end up resting in his own company. Jon was no longer in his Queensguard armour, festivities in Winterfell were no place where somebody would be harmed. His brother seemed to doing the same thing, Dany tried to ignore it but it was only a matter of time before others began to notice and ask questions.

"Robb, what's wrong with you?" Dany whispered back in her chair, still facing forward with a smile to appease to the people below.

Robb sat still with the same stern expression, resting his hands on the table. "Just leave it."

"No, I want to know why you're so miserable lately." Dany finally looked at him frustration. "You can't keep it up."

"Daenerys, not now." Robb sighed and took a drink from his chalice, his eyes looming and face melancholy.

Jon caught attention to the situation, seeing Robb agitated and Dany's eyes questioning. He pressed his hand onto his brothers shoulder before they could speak anymore, Robb turned quickly, desperate for help.

"Come on." Jon stood and Robb followed quickly, taking the first chance to get out of the situation. As Robb went Jon gave a small look to the Queen "I'll talk to him."

He led him out of the hall into a small empty patch of mud, it was an old forgotten training ground. The stands near the sides rotted and barely stood.

"Here." Jon chucked a sparring sword at Robb, he caught it reluctantly and held it in his hand. Swinging a few times in the air, his own breath falling out in front of him as the weather was as cold as ever.

"Robb!" Jon shouted and swung his sword, Robb suddenly lifted up his blade to block it. They met with an ear-piercing clash and Jon could see the change in his look, the face full of sorrow was gone and he was now smiling as they fought each other.

None of them we're trying their best at first, they didn't want to hurt each other. But as they swung more and more and clashed even more the competitiveness grew, the brothers were trying their hardest to land a strike.

"Come on Jon." Robb teased as they circled across the mud, each one staring, and waiting for the next attempt.

Jon clashed with him, Robb pushed him back and sent him smudging in the mud. He quickly steadied himself and put his stance back up, still circling around him.

"You always make the same mistake." Robb spoke behind his blade, his smirk only made his brother angry. He saw a weakness in his defence and quickly exploited it, slapping his blade at the side of Jon's leather tunic.

Jon gasped as stinging pain rested at his side, he blocked the next few swings from Robb weakly, falling into a sitting position. One hand loosely around the grip of his sword and the other rubbing his side.

Robb was so determined on battering down on Jon's defence, he forgot about his own. Jon swept his legs from underneath him, Robb came flying down to the wet floor, his sword flung a few yards away from his reach.

Jon quickly sat back up and placed his sword to his throat, of course the blade was too blunt to even leave a scratch but it was enough for him to yield. They stared fiercely. Each of then panting and leaving clouds in the air from the cold.

Jon was the first to laugh, it soon followed from his brother as Jon stood, pulling him up.

" _You're_  too confident, you get lazy." Jon patted his shoulder and brought him back his sword.

Robb shook his shoulders a few times and readied himself, "It won't happen again.."

Each of them brought their blades up and were ready to bring swing them down, their heads turned when a distant voice suddenly called, Ned Stark stood at the hall door smiling at his sons.

"How'd I know you'd both be out here?" He walked towards them, his hands clasped around his belt.

"Father, we were just _messing_." Robb spoke out quickly, using it to cover his absence. Ned gripped his shoulder and smiled intently, he then looked over at Jon.

"I'm glad to have you both back here, truly I am." Ned words were filled with pride, it was a great feeling to have both his sons back at Winterfell again. One who was King and the other Lord Commander of the Queensguard.

"Robb," Ned looked up and down him, once again Jon felt the old feeling,  _his brother was always the favourite_  he thought.

"You're needed in the hall. The people wish to see their king." Robb quickly nodded and obeyed, he trembled slowly back to the doors, the sadness came back to him.

Ned turned to Jon, yet he was no longer smiling and a serious expression covered his face. "I told you that the next time we met, we would talk about your mother."

"My mother?"

"Yes." Ned began to guide him through a small gap in the muddy sparring arena, they entered the courtyard. It was as silent as every night, the only sounds were their steady breaths.

"Tomorrow." Ned began "We'll go for a ride… And I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Jon wasn't sure how to react, he suddenly felt a great pressure and only nodded solemnly. Ned hugged him once more.

"You were always a Stark, Jon." Ned moved back and gazed into his eyes. "No matter your name, you will always have my blood."

"And what about my mother?" Jon whispered in a desperate tone, his eyes fastened on an answer.

Ned's expression turned grim and bothered, he tried his best to cover it but Jon could see below his façade.

"Tomorrow, Jon."

* * *

The next day awoke with the same cold nature, Dany insisted to take a stroll in the Godswood as an early morning ritual. Jon followed behind slowly, the sentinel trees towering about created a small solace atmosphere.

Dany came to a small flower, it was blooming from the ground and stood yellow amongst the field of leaves around it.

"You don't have to protect me here, Jon." Dany told him as she moved further into the wood.

Jon followed closely behind, kicking through the dead leaves at his feet. "It's my duty, Dany."

"An assassin could jump out from behind these trees at any moment." Dany turned as she heard the words and laughed, Jon laughed too but he was half serious.

"It's nice to see how close you are to your family." Dany continued in her small journey, the small black pond became viewable in the distance.

"I've missed them." Jon still grafted his feet through the mounds, Dany seemed to hardly leave a track, she was so light against them.

"I want a family." Dany stopped walking, her face still facing the pond. Jon stopped behind her, the cold air was thick from the vulnerable tremble in her voice. Jon felt out of place,  _why would she tell him this?_

Jon cleared his throat and stood still, his feet engraved in the ground. "You have a family, one day you will have your own children... With Robb."

Dany turned to look at him, her eyes spoke only one thing.

_You know nothing, Jon Snow._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things turn darker...

**Chapter 2**

"Stop it!" Sansa roared across at Rickon, the repetitious kicks against her knees stopped and his figure grew smaller, even smaller than what it already was. Sansa couldn't help but let regret flood her mind, seeing her little brother cower beneath her eruption. He was a boy of nine but to her his features still resembled someone on verge of their sixth name day.

"I'm sorry for shouting, Rickon." His eyes peered up slowly at the words, though his face still dropped. "It just hurt a bit."

His acceptance was clear when he went back to slurping his soup, leaving nothing left on the spoon. He and Sansa were in the private dining chambers for their morning meal, it was so rare the two would ever be alone with each other. But since Sansa returned to Winterfell she would always make a further effort with her family, being kept away from them for so long only made her realise how much she loved them, and how much they all loved each other, despite their  _Stark_ stubbornness.

Arya's contagious laughter suddenly reached their ears, the wooden door swung open and collided against the grey wall, sending a tremor through the table. The youngest sister came pouncing through, her body tranced with hysterical laughter which barely kept her on her feet.

"Oh gods.." Arya calmed herself and wiped the small puddles in her eyes, they would always seem to grow wet when she laughed, and it was the only thing that brought her out of certain hilarious states.

The door opened again before it could fully close, Jon and Robb followed. Their faces were lit with a smile but nothing compared to Arya's.

"I'm being honest." Jon sat down beside Rickon and pulled across a plate of bread "I thought she was going to kill me."

Sansa figured they were laughing at one of Jon's unfortunate past experiences, after all he was the only one red with embarrassment.

"Would you like some soup, Jon?" Sansa reached over the table to lift a bowl, Jon's hears caught her against the laughter "Yes, please." He replied in a solemn tone.

Arya's continuous giggling began to annoy even herself, she had to do something or she would never stop. Jon swirled the spoon through his soup, listening as she finally came to a rest from the bread filling her mouth.

"So" Sansa began to speak quietly, staring across her siblings "Which one of you will be helping me move my things later?" She was quickly trying to secure a new subject before Arya bellowed again.

Her gaze looked between Robb and Jon, each of one of them slowly caught on and stared back at her. They were the only ones strong enough to possibly lift the many things that she possessed.

"I'll do it." Robb continued to look, holding his spoon upwards as he talked "As long as you get me a few more bowls of this soup."

Sansa smiled and nodded her head, Jon returned to his meal but she couldn't help but notice the brooding sheet that swept into his eyes.

"Jon?" She quickly caught his attention, his head darted up " _You_  can help if you want-"

"No." Jon shook his head and put-on a smile, he didn't want to seem rude nor did he want to reveal the reason behind his sadness. "I'm to go for a ride with father anyway."

* * *

Daenerys let out a loud sigh as she escaped the meeting hall, rows of people wanting to greet her individually was one the most tedious things she had to endure.  _Now the rest begins_  she thought.

The sun stood high above the castle and poured a few stray rays through the thick clouds, their Northern weather was as resistant as their steel personalities, not letting much light in.

In the day the courtyard was as busy as ever, especially with the added presence of her arrival. People working, walking in every corner. Those who would go by her would give a graceful nod and move on, it was not the usual attention a Queen would receive, but she was grateful of it. Through the crowd of black and grey she spotted a familiar white cloak, it was drawing nearer in a fast pace.

"Jon." She greeted him with a smile and he stopped with a rushed look on his face. "What is it?"

"I..." He took a small intake of breath, "I'm going for a ride with my father, and I've assigned Ser Boron and Ser Marc to you instead for the rest of the day."

Dany simply kept her smile and nodded "Ok." She didn't see the reasoning behind Jon's urgency to inform her.

Part of Jon wanted her to demand he stayed and she wouldn't let him go with his father, telling her was his poor attempt at it. He knew that once he came back from this ride he would not be the same. It was the thing he always wanted the most, to find out who his mother was, but as it approached he wanted to do nothing more than shove it aside.

He felt a hard punch against his back which brought him out of his thoughts. Arya came swinging around to Dany's side, she clutched her arm and gazed across at her with a smile. "Come, your grace. I've got something to show you."

Dany was quick enough to give Jon a final smile before she was pulled away. He looked down to his feet, they were buried in the mud. He mustered all his effort to move them, to face the inevitable.

"Come on come on!" Dany had to try her best to keep up with Arya, her endless amount of energy was something she envied. She led them out of the courtyard, past the well and smithy, they followed a faint path into the old stables.

"Here!" Arya quickly opened the gate, it was green with mold and cracked as it opened. The horses there moaned at their arrival, stamping through the hay and sniggering in their direction.

They jumped through a small opening at the back and landed upon a large patch of empty land, the grass there was half as brown as it was green. Most of it was battered down to the floor from the where the horses would stamp.

"Look." Arya pointed forward, a smile beaming on her face ear to ear.

Further up the patch was a mare, galloping around senselessly. Dany's eyes widened as she saw the beauty of it. Her coat was an ethereal grey, and her mane shook in a glistening silver. So much so it reminded her of her old steed  _Silver._

"Beautiful." Was the only word she could summon, her violet stare was caught by it. Arya looked back and forth with a proud smile, she knew for sure that Dany would love it.

Arya took hold of the reins and brought her forward, she was surprisingly obedient. Dany let her hand fall down the bristles from the bridge of her nose to her cheek, she stared intently into dark eyes.

"What will you call her?" Arya stared eagerly, she always thought the names that Dany would chose were beautiful.

"I don't know.." Dany stroked her fingers down the mane. "Can you think of anything?"

Arya felt like she was put on the spot, naming was very important to her.

"Er..." She grumbled as her mind swept through endless possibilities. The one that was caught at the forefront of her mind was  _Nymeria,_ her lost direwolf. It too was grey like the horse, and even more beautiful.

"Nymeria…" It spilled out of her mouth quicker than what she intended, Dany however only smiled and nodded in return.

"Nymeria it is."

* * *

Everything seemed so slow, every faint sound so loud. Even the blunt trots of the horses against the grass. Jon followed closely behind Ned, they'd descended so far from Winterfell that neither of them could no longer even hear the sound of its people. They travelled down a small marked road, at the side immense trees towered over them.

"Here." Ned stopped his horse and pointed to his left, "There's a nice path just further down."

Jon rolled his eyes, if Ned was trying to coat the true purpose of their ' _journey'_  it was only making things worse. Jon was just waiting for the moment he brought it up. Regardless he still followed him further into the wood and they eventually came to a stop, dismounting.

Jon couldn't deny it was a nice place, but the looming thought of coming conversation only spat down on the green flora and the blooming flowers. Ned led them down a stray path and through a barrier of trees and bushes until they reached an unworldly area that shimmered just as much as the small stream that fell through it. It was under the overhang of a small cliff, the land dipped slightly and the pointy conifers surrounded.

Ned knelt down and picked a blue winter rose, the whole area was smothered with winter roses in fact. All Jon could see was green and blue, green and blue and the brown of Ned's cloak.

"Lyanna used to love it here." Ned whispered solemnly to himself, his eyes were stuck on the rose in his hands. Tears were swelling.

Jon patted his feet a few times, feeling useless in the situation. He hated to see him upset, because he rarely ever was.

"Lyanna? Your sister?" Jon placed his hand on his shoulder, offering a smile.

Ned placed the rose back onto the ground and stood, "Yes..."

"Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped and raped her.." Jon spoke out what he knew, as he heard the words back they sounded too harsh for his father to endure. Ned only shook his head and walked forward a few steps, his hands gripping his cloak.

The silence lingered for a moment, the only noises were the abrupt bird screech and nature around them. Each one of them knew why they were out here.

"Now Jon, your mothe-"Jon quickly urged forward, he was overcome with all the feelings he'd hid. "I've heard the rumours, people say my mother was a whore, a whore who broke-"

"The rumours are not true, Jon." Ned faced him, nothing in his eyes but sadness. "All of them are false."

Jon stared desperately, he stomped over to his father and demanded he talked "Who  _is_  my mother then?" His figure softened slightly and his tone dropped slowly "Who is she? Please?"

"She made me promise.. She made me swear a promise your mother." Ned could see it all through his eyes, even now as clear as day. "She was in a puddle of blood, and roses."

"What?" Jon shook his head in confusion, Ned was too mad with grief to even make sense to him.

"Your mother…. Your mother, Jon." Ned took a small pause and swallowed the growing lump in his throat, his eyes returning to the bed of winter roses. "Your mother is Lyanna, my sister." His voice broke as he saw Jon tremble, he could only mouth an expression of his shock and shake his head in disagreement. "And your true father, is Rhaegar Targaryen.."

"No no no no…" Jon repeated the word, outload a few but in his head he roared  _no_  a thousand times. "You are my father, YOU!"

"I'm sorry…. I am.." Ned wiped the shallow tears around his eyes, watching Jon as he still shook his head in defiance. "But it's the truth, Jon.  _I_ would not lie to you."

He was right, he would never lie to him. But that only made it more real,  _no-no-no_ still echoed in every corner of Jon's frame. He sat down against a rock, his head found the inside of hands and he sat. Sobbing.  _Eddard Stark was not his father, Robb Stark was not his….._ He couldn't let himself hear the words.

"You know what this means.." Ned walked slowly towards him, every continued word on the matter was like a sword through Jon's chest, but he had to tell him whilst he could.

"You are a Targaryen as much as you are a Stark." Jon jumped at scowled him "You said I was always a  _Stark._ You said.." Jon always wanted to be a Stark, and when he was given that name that was enough for him.  _He should've stopped at that, left it at that._

"Yes, and you are. You have my blood, my sisters… And you have his.." Ned needed him to calm down, being in such an erratic state would only mean he wouldn't listen.

"It is up to  _you,_ whatever you decide to do." Jon sat as still as night, peering down into the grass at his feet.

If Jon was to keep it hid then Ned would honour it. If he wanted to sing it across the seven kingdoms he would follow him, he made a  _promise, a promise to protect._

* * *

Robb just finished moving Sansa's final bedside cabinet, he dropped it down with a groan.  _The gods his sister had so many things._ She was moving all her possessions to a larger room, Arya would then take her old one. It would've been a lot easier for him if his father and Jon were there, they'd been gone all day.

"Look!" Robb heard Arya's voice as he found his way outside, the cold air rushed against the sweat on his skin. In the distance he could see Dany riding and Arya sat with a large smile.

"Fancy getting on a horse?" Arya asked him as he approached her "You look like you could do with a bit of fun."

Robb simply wiped the sweat from his forehead "Not right now." He murmured into his hand. Daenerys reared her horse in front of them, coming to a stop. She sat calmly upon it, it seemed to follow her every movement.

"Come on Robb, come for a ride." Dany smiled at him for the first time in a while, it was a new day and perhaps a new start.

Robb still only shook his head and continued to catch his breath "I can't, maybe later." The sun seemed to shine a lot brighter through his eyes, too bright. It only made him sweatier.

Dany and Arya shrugged, it was him who would be missing out. With a smile she tapped  _Nymeria_ back into a gallop and they struck back through the empty field, the wind behind them and their silver hair flying at their backs. Arya watched her closely, as her gaze deepened more and more, she suddenly felt a panic.

"Robb." Arya called him, dazed. She kept her watch as her eyes struck at terror "Robb she's going to fall!"

Robb lifted his head and spotted to the two white figures in the distance, Dany's grip on the horse had gone entirely and she sat loosely on the saddle, her body wavering as the steed jumped around in panic.

The two instantly began to sprint over, they could only watch helplessly at whatever unfolded before they reached her. With every step they took Dany's body seemed to loosen, her shoulders falling and her head twisting back.

"Robb!" Arya screamed to her brother as they ran, Dany's body had pounded against the floor and she now laid folded in the grass, lifeless. Robb finally reached her side and quickly turned the flaccid body below him, her eyes were barely open and smudges of dirt splat across her skin.

"You're alright.." Robb tried to assure against his concern, the urgency and suddenness of the situation all seemed to make it a blur.

The Queen still laid flat above his arms, she could barely see the two dark figures above. " _Dragon…."_ Was the last word to leave her lips, her eyes then came to a close.

* * *

_Black. It was he could see. Or was it?_ Robb sat on an old bench in the courtyard, peering through his thoughts as his head rested on his brought up knees.

 _Black, black and silver. Black, silver and grey._ The last image in his mind was Dany lying still under the black sheets, her hair had lost its shine and her skin ran dry.

He waited, listening closely for the moment the Maester would come out and he could go back inside. The courtyard was silent, the only sounds being his own thoughts and the sniffs from Arya as she wiped her sore eyes. Grief seemed to have physically struck the castle, the walls seemed darker and lights seemed to dimmer.

"Robb." He heard his name called again, for the many times that day his name only meant someone was getting hurt. He resisted to bring up his head, only then did he hear it again, but from much farther away.

Ned and Jon finally returned, they could instantly sense the looming atmosphere that consumed the air. Robb and Arya sat a distance away, secluded in their own bodies.

Ned quickly dropped from his horse, rushing over to where his children sat "What has happened?"

The sudden words caused tears to swirl back up in his Arya's eyes, she stared up painfully "It's Dany.."

"What? What is wrong with her?" Ned looked at them both, his eyes thick with concern. "What's happened? Who's hurt?" Jon caught up, seeing all the terror so blatantly obvious in them. Part of him was still away, away with anger.

"She fell from her horse…" Arya brought her eyes back down, rubbing the tears away slowly. "She's hasn't awoken since then."

Ned let his vision trail off as he heard the news, he turned to see Jon, only, and he was no longer with them in the dusty courtyard of Winterfell. And the door to the Keep swung freshly.

Jon stormed through the many ways of the Keep, he was surprised he still knew where he was going as it all seemed to blur. Torch after torch, person after person that would call his name as he ran. But he couldn't do nothing else but run, he was supposed to be her vowed protector and yet she had still gotten hurt.  _The only day he was gone and this happened._

There she was, laid still under the covers. Her face whiter than snow and her silver hair as dead as the night. The Maester still bent over her, studying what was the body of the Queen.

"Jon?" He turned in shock "You shouldn't be in here, not yet! Please leave!" Jon felt firm hands on his shoulder, men beginning to pull him back. His own men.

His eyes were pinned on her face, he took in all he could as she slowly crept behind the crook of the door.

_Time seemed to stop, everything upside down._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> So I have gone with RLJ, it's really going to be something good to play with once the story progresses even more. And it'll be fun to write about Jon's view on everything since he now knows this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Screams. Screams were all she could hear._

_Though these screams were not of a human, these were the cries of a dragon. The dragon. Dany lifted her face slowly from the cold, small spots of snow still latched onto her desperately. She laid alone in a winter wood, a sprawling creature in the night above her._

_"Drogon?" She rose to her feet, her gown was stuck to her skin, the cold air spiking her hairs._

_Another screech sounded, shattering through the snow at her feet. Daenerys scanned around the area, seeing an endless field of snow and pines until her vision could no longer see through the shadows of the night. The moving dragon in the distance grew nearer, it was completely black and shot out the stars. Blacker than Drogon, even blacker than the dread itself._

_It only came closer, should she run or face it? She tried to bury her feet into the snow, the creature's wing flapped a dangerous wind that shivered the frame of her body. It was too close to run, oddly too fierce for Dany to flee._

_She searched for its eyes as it settled down onto the ground, raising its neck fiercely. Eventually she gazed up at icy blue orbs, the centre shattered its glow through the black scales. He was incredibly larger than any of hers, Rhaegal, Viserion and even Drogon._

_A cloud of smoke fell out of his mouth, disappearing quickly as the snow battered it down. Dany slowly brought her hand forward, letting it fall down the cracked scales of his hide._

_"What are you…" Dany said the words like they were a ritual, of course she knew full well what it was. But, this dragon was like nothing else she had seen._

_One large spike sprouted up from the centre of its head, poking up at the snow with an icy tint at the peak. Its eyes shot at her again, like cold daggers in the dark._

_A howl suddenly sounded from her back, a howl from afar. It was all too familiar, it sang the same song as Jon's direwolf, Ghost._

_"Ghost!" She screamed off in the distance, turning to stare down at the mountains below her. She searched for a sign of those red eyes, but all she could still see was the flakes of snow…. And a fire._

_A fire blazing in the distance, the greatest fire she'd ever seen. It wasn't there before, but yet now it burned in all its might._

_The dragon flew over her, sending Dany to the ground and snow. It roared as it flew towards the flames._

_Disappearing as her vision turned to black._

* * *

_A Week Later_

Jon finally managed to escape his chambers, daring to step outside the door and face the others. None of them saw him as any different, but that wouldn't ease the feelings that Jon had in any way, they would never know what he knew, that was what unsettled him.

They were all in the dining chambers, each one of them secretly fighting for place closest to the burning fire. Arya was still finding moments where the tears would flow freely, as the days passed and the Queen remained in her state it only got worse for her. Sansa would often be the one to look after Rickon in the day, distracting him with small niceties and things that kept his attention. Robb was more away now than he ever was, his mind astray somewhere else he refused to ever speak of.

As they ate, Jon noticed that Ned would hardly ever dare to look at him, often avoiding his eyes. A tense atmosphere stood strong between the two, Ned was still unsure on what Jon felt and thought it best to leave it in the  _circumstances_.

"Like it?" Ned smiled over to Bran, who was sat taking all he could from the food on his plate. Bran nodded a few times as reply, putting a smile through the stew sauce that leaked from the side of his mouth.

"I got word from Lord Tyrion," Jon began, speaking with his head down. "He said to keep quiet and he hopes she recovers, things in King's Landing are just as normal."

Jon took a small bite from the food, he hadn't had much of an appetite lately. And he didn't dare to even look at anyone else, feeling in a small sense ashamed in himself for what he knew.

Ned could see that he was brooding, sat away in the corner.

"What if she doesn't woke up?" Robb muttered silently at the rest, his hands folded against the table and his head falling above them. This was the first time he'd said a word at the table.

Arya scowled at him, "She will wake up! The Maester's have said!"

Robb was still unmoving "Then when? She hasn't moved for a single moment since she fell, we can only keep wishing for so long." Every part of his mind didn't want to hear the words, but as  _King_ he thought that he should be the one to tackle the looming thoughts, the one to face them and be strong.

"We wait as long as we have to." Jon's voice arose to everyone's shock, the amount of times they'd seen him in the entire seven days since Dany fell could be counted on one hand.

"Whether she wakes on the morrow or whether she wakes on the next moon. We will all be here." The silence grew after that, each of them eating uncomfortably, even Rickon. Catelyn couldn't stand to let the silence brew, each one of them was feeling sorry for themselves when they should have been supporting each other.

"The Queen will be fine, if the Maester's had said this then it is true." Catelyn sat upright to the rest of them at the table "Do you think she would want you all here,  _fighting?_ No, she would want you to be strong for each other. Help each other like she would you, you are brothers and sisters." Catelyn bared down, her eyes not leaving them for a moment.

_Can I still be their brother?_ Jon didn't smile back like the rest of them, he could feel Ned's gaze but he didn't bring himself to meet it.

The rest of the time passed in silence, once they all disbanded from the table the sun was already beginning to settle in the horizon.  _Another day, another day and she still sleeps._

Jon would take the task himself to guard her through the night, dressing fully into his  _second skin_ and becoming a gargoyle like guard to his Queen. He didn't trust any other of the Queensguard with her, they should have stopped it in the first place.

But Jon would never actually go inside the chambers, he could never look back at her face, not whilst she was like that. Lifeless. The silver in her hair dry and her skin as pale as the moon.

Jon sat outside the door on a small chair,  _Longclaw_ a small distance away leant up against the wall and all night he would just sit and stare through a small creak. A small creak under the door where some of the light crept through, he was sat staring and hoping that her shadow may cast over the light and she would walk out to him.

Though the light would never darken, it would only shine annoyingly, as if it was teasing him.

The night grew older and Jon was still sat outside, his eyes closed as he was being lulled into sleep by the sound of the winds beyond the walls.

"Jon." Ned stood above him, Jon could see the tiredness on his face, his eyes daring to stay open.

Jon let his head fall forward, sighing and looking down at the cracks in the floor. "What?" He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Ned pulled the small stool from the other end of the door and set it down in front of Jon, the screech rattled his ears.

"As much as it pains me to say. You and I know that there's always the doubt, the doubt that she might never wake up." Ned looked across at him, trying to find Jon's eyes through the few stray curls that fell over onto his head.

Quickly Jon shook his head at the words "No, no I don't want to talk about that."

"If she doesn't then, that means there will never be another Targaryen ruler. There are no heirs to sit on the Iron Throne… Robb won't have a care in the world for it." Ned brought his hand to Jon's shoulder, tugging it to bring his face up. "But there is you."

"What?" Jon rolled his eyes, annoyed. Already he couldn't be bothered to listen to him anymore at that moment. Ned reached into the pocket of his tunic and pulled out a small item, the light from the torch's shot beams against it.

"This is the last thing that Lya ever gave me." Ned spoke cryptically as he stared at the flares bouncing off the Stark crest engraved into the top. "This was the ring given to her by Rhaegar, the ring that sealed their marriage."

"But he was already wed to the Martell woman.." Jon couldn't see where he was going with this.

"You have a claim to the throne, Jon." He brought his hand down from his shoulder, "You are the late Prince Rhaegar's heir. I know that you're loyal to the Queen, but... If she doesn't wake up."

It was exactly what Jon didn't want to hear, that the  _Bastard of Winterfell_ would have a right to the Iron Throne. He had no interest for ruling, no want for what his lost father's name may bring him.

Jon opened his mouth and went to speak, though he was silenced by a shrill screech erupting from outside. Ned jumped up to look through the window, looking across the courtyard through the falling snow. It sounded again, and Ned noticed Jon's still stare.

"What is that?" He looked for answers, Jon eyes widened as the screech met their ears once more. Jon suddenly beamed from his chair and began sprinting down the hallway, "Jon!" Ned shouted for him, his voice hardly beating the growing roar. Jon still stalked off towards the exit.

"Dragon!" He yelled before disappearing around the corner.

Ned knew that if one of Dany's dragons had come to Winterfell then it was because they had sensed her trouble, they can only be here to expect the worst.  _Defend her._

The cold quickly met Jon's face as he burst into the courtyard, searching through the sheets of snow falling to find the dragon.  _Drogon_. If any of the dragons were to come Jon knew it was definitely Drogon. He circled the courtyard, looking in the same directions over and over again.

"Dragon!" An armed set of Winterfell guards moved out and pointed an arrow in the sky, Jon finally met his eyes with the creature bearing down on them. More and more of guards rushed out, wearing thick cloaks with torches and bows firm in their hands.

"No!" Jon shouted out from the centre, all the eyes turned to his golden armour in the black and white of the courtyard. They searched him for an answer, some still aiming their arrows up to the night.

If he didn't do something now they would all be covered in flames. Drogon slowly sat atop of the keep tower, flaring out his wings and aiming his gaze to the ants of men below. The belly of the beast grumbled, fire was churning and ready to be spat.

"Drogon.." Jon whispered the name, holding one hand out towards him and the other to the shaking Northmen. His heart was beating out of his armour, at any moment he could be scorched or eaten. A single wrong move could mean his death and everyone else's at Winterfell.

There was a fire boiling in the dragons eyes, he had come here to fight for his mother.

"Jon. He'll kill ya!" One of the soldiers whispered, watching as the dragon got closer to him. "Get the Queen!"

Jon shook his head,  _he knew_ that the Queen wasn't going to show up at any moment and save them, the responsibility fell on him. Drogon came only a foot away from his hand, letting out a snarl.

Jon closed his eyes, taking a sharp in-take of breath as he expected his fate.

"It's alright…" He muttered as a last resort, his hand coming closer. The dragon seemed like he understood the words as he rested the crimson scales on his snout against Jon's hand, his eyes chilled. The soldiers stood around watched in awe, their mouths open at the sight.

A wave of wind hit the rest of them as Drogon ascended back into the air, disappearing into the night. Jon stared up senselessly, his heart slowly coming to a rest.

"How the fuck did you do that?" A husky Northern voice called out, Jon felt a barrage of firm hands against his knightly armour. They gathered like ants around a piece of food, a mass of them in the courtyard all surrounding him.

"What is happening?" Lord Stark's voice broke through the crowd, each one of them huddling back and separating.

"Jon, he stopped the dragon!" The words met his ears, the rest of his family under his arms all smiled, Arya pounced off to hug Jon further down the courtyard.

Ned however knew why he was able to stop Drogon, he had the blood of Rhaegar. A Targaryen, the blood of the dragon.

Only if the others knew, but they never could.

* * *

"You can't do things like that." Ned paced around Jon's chambers, it was 3 days since the dragon arrived and it had been circling ever since. The vast creature sparked both fear and excitement into the people at Winterfell, women would cover their children at the sight and the men would stare in amazement.

"Do things like what? Save Winterfell?" Jon was fondling with a small strap on his tunic, tugging and pulling at it. Once again showing a blatant ignorance to Eddard, he saw it as if he didn't recognise just what would've happened if he didn't stop Drogon.

Ned shook his head and sat down in front of him, staring seriously into his eyes. "Stopping that dragon will have already caught  _their_  attention. When I told you about, your right. It was a last resort."

Jon didn't meet his gaze, " _Lord Stark."_ He spoke in a snide way, Ned's mouth closed beyond his effort as it hit him. "I did what I had to do, for everyone's safety."

"What about your own safety?" Ned's was sterner than ever, "Don't do anything else with that dragon, not ever. You can't... You can't let the-"

"No one else will ever know!" Jon yelled over his words, letting the self-pity fall back into his eyes. "I've managed this far without  _your_ warning."

A knock sprung from the door and they both turned quickly, worrying that whoever it was would've heard them.

"Who is it?" Jon called out, staring back and forth between the door and Ned, his heart rising.

"It's me, Rickon." His voice relieved them, they both let a smile to corners of their mouth. "Can I come in?"

Ned traced across the room, past the fire and opened the door slowly. Rickon stood staring directly at him.

"Mother said you were here, I- I just wanted to see if you could come to the ground with me." He seemed hesitant to ask of his father, Ned smiled, messing his hair "Of course, c'mon." He turned once more before he left, looking at Jon "Coming?"

"No I can't, I've got some things I must do." Jon smiled hardly as they rushed off down the hallway, hearing Rickon's laughs fade.

It was about time he went and saw Dany, something in his mind had changed his thought. He had to see her once more, out of respect for the Queen herself.

He took one last glance at his chambers before closing the door, following in the tracks of his father and leaving the east wing. Headed for  _royal chambers._

* * *

"Relax your bow arm.." Ned heard Robb's voice as he came back with a few more wooden swords, seeing both his sons stood on the range, Rickon was holding an arrow in the longbow.

The longbow was even longer than Rickon himself, it reminded Ned of the time all those years ago when he'd seen young Bran in the exact same position.

Rickon let go of the arrow and sent it whistling through the air, Arya cheered from the stand as it landed just aside from the centre.

"Well done!" She clapped and caught his attention, he smiled back and made his way to his seat. Arya jumped forward and took hold of the longbow, ripping the cloak from her shoulders and standing in a leather tunic and breeches, with high boots that reached her knees.

"What do you think you're doing?" Robb laughed as she drew an arrow from the quiver by his side, resting the shaft against the bow string.

Arya didn't listen to her brother's comment and raised the bow, pulling the string back and feeling the strain against her hold. With one eye closed she moved her gaze, the words of  _Anguy,_ an archer from the Brotherhood without banners, echoed in her head.

_"Keep your elbow high. You want your back doing the hard labour. You're holding. Never hold."_

Arya lifted her elbow, a small bird fluttering behind the target hardly unfazed her precision.

_"Never aim. Your eye knows where it wants the arrow to go. Trust your eye."_

With that Arya let the arrow loose, it flung off towards the target and her family watched in shock as it made its place in the centre. Shaking violently.

"Well done." Robb clapped mockingly, surprisingly out of his shell. "Maybe your place is with the bannermen."

Arya turned and rested the bow back down, offering him a snarky smile. She sat back down onto the front row of the stands, feeling the coldness without her cloak. The day was grey and shivering from a recent snow fall.

"Better than you." Arya taunted him as she reapplied her cloak, smothering it around her shoulders.

"You haven't seen the  _King_ with a bow."

"I can bet it isn't a pretty sight."

Ned let out a hearty laugh, smiling at them both. He gave a wooden sword to his youngest, pressing it firmly in their hands.

"Go on." He ushered him and pointed in the direction of Robb, who stood with another wooden sword.

As he slowly made his through the dirt, Sansa caught his arm and pulled him into her embrace, wrapping her cloak around him.

"You can do it." She smiled at him, stroking her thumb across his cold cheeks. "You'll be just as good as Robb one day, even Jon."

Rickon hugged her again, lately he and Sansa had grew closer than ever. The rest of them, Robb, Arya and Eddard all watched with a smile.

"Go on." She looked over at Robb, Rickon quickly jumped his way and landed in front of him. They stared strongly, but below their eyes sat a smirk.

"Come on then, where's the boys bravery." Robb jested before Rickon threw a quick strike, flinging the sword forward in all his strength. They met with a blunt thud, the vibration hurt Rickon's hand a little, making him hold the weapon away tight before he could try again.

* * *

Jon walked quietly as if she was going to wake up, making sure to avoid any creaks.  _Though perhaps if he stepped on a creak it may actually wake her._

Dany was still under the black covers, they crept over to her neck. Her cheeks rather gaunt and darkened, yet pale all the same. Jon had to search for her breath to convince himself she still lived.

_Why did this have to happen to her? The Queen?_ He thought relentlessly, she was everything that the kingdoms needed, bringing peace to the realm for the past 3 years. But in truth, Jon didn't care much about all that. What he really cared about was the well-being of this woman he'd met 3 years ago and never left since, the person that he swore an oath to protect,  _and now even his family_. He couldn't do nothing more than watch as her fate fell to the gods, the cruel gods. The same entities that had once ripped apart those he loved.

He placed his hand onto hers, it was cold, colder than ever. He wanted to say something, ask her to wake, beg, and tell her what he knew. But he did neither of them, just sat in the silence. A roar erupted through the walls, Drogon. By now the whole host of Winterfell were used to them, he circled its perimeter constantly.

The cries though grew louder, so much so it made Jon's ears ring. He quickly covered them, pushing the chair back which groaned as well.

The sound was unbearable, the scream of the dragon sending his whole body rattling. His head was becoming more and more light, his vision blurring. The scream never ending, his head the met the softness of the bed sheets. The air leaving his body.

Jon's eyes closed after he saw the silver, the rising silver of her hair.

* * *

"Jon!" Sansa jumped to his side, he awoke with a gasp, shooting up in the bed.

His was breathing heavily and sweating badly, laid in the bed of his own chamber. The day was older than what he remembered, the night in the sky. Sansa sat at his side, slowly dabbing his head with a wet cloth to ease his heat.

"Rest.." She pushed him back down slowly, his breathing calmed a little. "You passed out."

Jon let his head crush into the pillow, the fires grumble was rather softening. Sansa put aside the cloth and stood, gathering the bucket of water from the floor.

"I'll come back later to check on you, but for now go to sleep Jon." She smiled and turned to the door, taking soft steps to not make any noise.

"Wait!" Jon sat up, the sheets falling down and revealing his sweating bare chest. "The Queen? Dany, is she alright?" Thoughts of Drogon's wretched screaming filled his mind,  _what if he did something when he was sleeping?_

A smile lit Sansa's face and she looked down at him "She woke up, Jon. Just as soon as we found you."

Jon looked away, a beam lighting his face. His mind restored. "I must see her." He flicked the sheets aside, rising from the bed and jumping towards the door.

"No no no-"Sansa clashed into him, the bucket shook and a bit of water burst onto his chest, cooling it. "Tomorrow, when you are well."

"I'm well enough now." Jon pleaded, grabbing his smalltop.

"The Queen has insisted you do not leave your chambers." Sansa lied the best she could, employing her old learnt tactics. "She said she will visit you on the morrow."

Jon stopped and sat back on the bed, "Ok.." He muttered, pulling the sheets back over him.

He would finally see her again, in her full form. Lively and bursting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that it might seem Ned tells Jon one thing then another, but he told him a possible last resort. He didn't want to leave it until the worst happened, because he wouldn't listen to him then.  
> So, Daenerys has awoke suspiciously as soon as Jon passed out.  
> Jon could only ever control the dragons because of his fathers blood, in this anyway. But he tries not to think much of it. I sort of experimented with a writing style in this, hence the very long section without any breaks. I'd like to give the Targaryen blood a lot more... Magic xD.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Drogon!"

The sky stood still, choked with aged clouds. The sun was lost and the wind blew harshly, it wasn't exactly like what they thought it was going to be. With the Queens recovery a calmness was expected, but the weather denied its part in that pleasure.

Daenerys was outside the walls of Winterfell, with Jon and Arya, Eddard and Robb all figures among a vast empty field. A small amount of Winterfell guards huddled behind them.

"Come back in Daenerys," Ned shouted through the wind "He could be long gone by now."

Dany shook her head, she could feel the dragon's presence. "He's here, Lord Stark. I know it."

They continued to stare off into the clouds, waiting for a sign of the black creature. Dany searched the sky, the back of her mind shouting in annoyance as it refused to show.

"How much longer are we gunna have to stay out 'ere." One of the Winterfell guards on horseback muttered, shivering. Dany was further across the field, stood a distance away. Robb was ready to pounce in case anything happened to her, he wouldn't fall short this time. Though Jon was already treading slightly forward, ready to protect her against anything.

Dany stared for a little while longer, before turning back to her company in disappointment.  _She knew full well that he was here, yet he wouldn't respond to his mother's calls._

"Dragons can be unpredictable." Arya pulled her cloak further around her, her face buried into the furs.

"I thought so," Robb began and pulled on the reins "Until Jon stopped it in the courtyard." He glanced over to him, smiling.

Daenerys took hold of  _Nymeria,_ her long sleep certainly didn't do any shame on the beauty of the horse. Climbing to sit on the saddle, staring once more at the skies, hoping.

"Why? What happened in the courtyard?" They began to trot downhill, the wind still hard on their faces. She looked over to Jon, yet he only kept his head down and carried on forth, moving his horse further forward.

Ned pulled up beside him and the two ascended to the front of the company, exchanging words that couldn't be heard by the rest. Dany looked around, searching the others for an answer.

"He stopped the dragon." Arya called from behind, Dany turned her head quickly "He stopped Drogon in the courtyard."

"Yes, but how?" Dany halted and pulled up beside her, the two trotting in unison at the back.

"I don't know  _how_ , he just… Talked to it." Arya could only laugh at how ridiculous it sounded, seeing the look on Dany's face,  _calming a dragon was never as simple as talking._

"Well, what did he say?" She glanced up at Jon, his white cloak falling down and separating to either side of the horse he rode. Ned was leant over to him, whispering into his ears.

"I only got there at the end, it was already gone." Arya sounded disappointed, she tapped her feet and the horse began to gradually trot faster, "You'll have to ask Jon."

Arya quickly darted to the front, testing how fast her horse could move. That left Dany at the back with Robb, the situation between them was still rather uneasy.

"You scared he'll take your dragons?" Robb moved up beside her, laughing over his shoulder. Daenerys was still staring up front, looking at her Lord Commander, trying to imagine him face on with Drogon.

" _No."_ She quickly turned her head, returning the smirk. "I am their mother."

"Well he hasn't come to you today."

 _He might have left the north,_ the words were about to leave her mouth, but then she knew it was here, she could feel it.

"He will come eventually." They both smiled and faced forward, Ned began to move backwards to them as Jon urged forward to reach Arya.

"Come on." Ned turned and commenced a quick gallop, the rest of them followed. They journeyed from the field and moved towards Winterfell, each of them needing for the company of those walls and the warmth of the fires.

Upon entering they all spread out in the courtyard, Catelyn, Sansa and Rickon stood to greet them.

"The dragon didn't show?" Catelyn said simply with her hands clasped together firmly at her front.

"No. He's here though." Dany dropped her feet to the floor, approaching her with the rest of them.

"Perhaps you should call for him, Jon." Robb jested as he lowered himself, though the look on Jon's face was not a humorous one. He pushed past him and disappeared around the keep.

"I'm sure you'll see him soon enough. We can only hope he doesn't do  _something_  before that." Catelyn gave Ned a warm hug, wrapping in his furs. The rest of them stood and watched as it prolonged, gazing with a smile.

"Jon." Sansa spoke out, her eyes on Dany. "Is he alright?"

Dany shrugged her shoulders helplessly, not having the slightest knowledge of what was troubling him.

"I'll go and-" Sansa began to turn, but she was stopped when Daenerys placed her hand on her shoulder.

"I'll go, you stay here." Dany didn't give Sansa a chance to reply, she was already pacing past her when she finished the sentence.

Behind the keep was a very small and confined area, narrow with small passages and gaps leading to other small places. As she entered she couldn't see Jon, only the small rise of smoke behind a shack. Dany moved through the passage, purposely avoiding the scattered puddles. Around the corner she saw Jon sat, his head in his hands.

"Jon.." Dany moved over to him, trying her best to reach an arm around his  _Queensguard_ armour. The armour was as cold as ever and the small scale like droppings on the arm sleeves rattled on contact.

"What troubles you?" Dany leant over to his side to look at him, he moved his head upwards and only stared forward at the fire burning in a small pit in front. Ever since she awoke she noticed something different in him, a suspicious silence and a pale front he kept on, he was hardly ever like that before.

The silver edges of the scar near his eye seemed to glisten, shining from the flames and reflecting the forlorn atmosphere surrounding him.

"Nothing, your grace." His voice was weak and faint, cracking as he forced the words. He rubbed his fingers up the small beard on his face, sighing.

"You're terrible at lying." Dany still kept her hold, looking over in concern. Just something as simple as calling her by 'your grace' suggested even more he was not himself.

He reached to his side and picked up his helm, shaking it about in his hands. "I was just…" Jon tried his best to come up with an answer, he was never quick with words and that was shown by his stutter.

"Stressed, that is all."

"What stresses you?" Dany sat back on the ledge beside him, her hands resting on her lap. Jon couldn't handle the questions.

"Nothing, it's nothing." Jon was crumbling and he knew it, he had to stop this conversation before he broke. He stood up quickly, avoiding the purple demanding gaze.

"Jon, you can retire from your duties for the day." Dany stood up next to him, "Rest."

She had wanted to ask him about the confrontation with Drogon, but she couldn't bring herself say the words knowing what his reaction would be.

"No, I won't. I don't want to." He shook his head in protest, slowly lifting his helm. Lately he felt like he had no choice in what he did. Daenerys took hold of his arm and pulled it down slowly.

"Your Queen commands it."

* * *

The rest of the day was rather simple, Daenerys was confined to the keep as the weather blew too harshly outside. She would spend most her time with Sansa and Arya, talking and laughing at whatever it may be. Later through the day she spent some time with Bran, the two didn't know each other all that well though he was very pleasant to her, they sat in the library talking for a long while. Then there was finally Rickon, and Rickon was simply Rickon. They sat and played, Dany would smother him in furs and lay him next to Shaggydog. Seeing the young boy laugh was warming enough and she continued to wrap him in the sheets no matter how many times she had to repeat it.

When she finally came to a stop and took a moment on her own, the moon was already rising and the day had slipped behind the castle walls. Jon was still a mystery and Robb was away somewhere. Her dragon was here,  _she knew it,_  even though he didn't show.

Dany spent the rest of the night in the large hall, it was empty besides Arya, Ned and Catelyn and the odd one or two guards that would come in and out.

"It's getting late." Arya placed down her cup, rubbing her eyes and standing. "I think I'm going to turn in."

"Sleep well." Dany took a sip of what wine she had left, "Tomorrow we have a lot to do."

"I know I know.." Arya stumbled out the room, leaving the three in silence.

The large fire grumbled at the end, its glow sent the hall into a cosy orange. Ned and Catelyn sat across from each other on a separate desk, Dany moved over and sat beside Catelyn.

"Did Jon tell you anything?" Ned caught Dany's attention, "What was bothering him?"

"No." She shook her head "He's very  _difficult_  when he's like that isn't he."

Ned nodded his head in agreement, holding the mug firmly in his hands. He was glad that Jon could keep quiet, he only worried what he would do.

"Did you see what happened? In the courtyard?" Dany could see Ned's expression turn grim.

"No, I arrived later with Arya." He shook his head slowly, not daring to look up. Ned didn't want to talk even slightly about the subject, one of the guards had told him what happened but he refused to tell anyone else in the family.

" _You."_ Daenerys called out, and Ned looked up in surprise in case she was calling him. Though her gaze was behind Eddard, concentrated on a young soldier.

"Me? Your grace?" The young man turned nervously, creeping towards the table.

"Yes. Were you in the courtyard that night?"

"That night? When the dragon came?" He replied nervously, searching amongst them and half-expecting they dismissed him.

"Yes." Daenerys wasn't letting down, raising her brow as she demanded an answer.

"Aye, yes. I-" He stopped when he saw Ned's serious gaze, his eyes sharply piercing him.

"Go on, who stopped it?" Dany's voice caught him again and he brought his head up. She knew who it was though she needed to know more.

"It was Jon, Jon Stark, your grace."

"How?"

"He just.." The guard moved closer to the table, resting his hands on the edges. "Talked to it."

"Talked to it?" Dany laughed, "Dragons do not talk."

"No-no I mean, he said some words, I couldn't hear. And the dragon, it bowed. Bowed to him!" Ned closed his eyes and sighed as the young guard spoke, he seemed overwhelmed with excitement as he told the story.

"That is all boy, you can go." Ned looked up at him, giving him a forceful glare.

"Yes, my lord." The guard quickly escaped the hall. Leaving without another word.

Daenerys trailed her vision as she recalled the words, the dragons bow to no-one, hardly even her.

* * *

Robb had spent all the day discussing important matters with some of the Lords and his own advisor's in Winterfell, though this may be a  _rest_ there was certain things that he couldn't put aside.

Finally though he found his chambers, coming to black door and stopping. Rubbing his hand through his hair and sighing in relief as he recalled what he'd done that day, he slowly opened the door, trying his best to avoid any noise.

He could see Daenerys sleeping on her side, facing the large window at the other side of the room. He silently got into his small clothes and crept under the sheets, taking one last glance over his shoulder as he drifted away

_Again. She was there again._

_The hill, the hill she was slowly coming to know from her dream. It was drenched with snow and surrounded by pines, sentinels that covered all the distance she could see in the night. The wind howling strongly in her ears._

_As she stood she searched the area again, finally she caught her eyes on a path of separately placed torches. Lit torches that lead onwards._

_Dany followed the path, having no other option she followed only the light. Watching cautiously for the sight of the dragon, the black dread that she remembered. Through the trees she could see small dots of blue, blue globes watching._

_The land was cold, so cold though her skin was warm. She oddly felt warm even though her mind told her otherwise. Snow was falling like a blizzard, dropping down and gathering in mounds._

_As she carried on helplessly, grafting her feet forward and following the line of torches. She spotted two red orbs in the distance, too small to be Drogon's, but just right for the infamous direwolf Ghost._

_She called his name, her throat was dry and her voice hoarse. The red orbs shuffled behind the trees and Daenerys quickened her pace to chase after them._

_Before she could even blink, she was suddenly out of from under the pines. The snow at her feet disappeared, the flakes no longer dropped and she looked around at the hall suddenly surrounding her._

_The throne room. Further up was her seat, the Iron Throne._

_Dany approached it slowly, the room was still blue with coldness and the air was an icy thick grey. As she got closer to the throne she could see a figure, another person. A man wearing black and red garments, silver hair flowing from his head._

_"Who are you?" Daenerys stopped in her tracks as he turned, his eyes a dark purple._

_"I am Rhaegar, sweet sister." He walked slowly down the steps, tapping his boots against them with an echo._

_"But, you're.."_

_"Here, I'm here." Rhaegar reached her, he was similar looking to her late brother Viserys, though he was taller and as he got closer his eyes became a shade darker than his and hers._

_"You've taken back the throne, restored our house." Rhaegar took hold of her arms, they were bare and cold._

_"I don't understand." Daenerys couldn't comprehend what she was seeing, hearing her brother's voice._

_Rhaegar moved back slowly, his expression turning flat. "You need to see the dragon. The dragon you know, the one who is black."_

_Daenerys followed his words, though they seemed to make no sense to her. Drogon? Her black dragon, or the even darker one in her dreams._

_"You must see the black dragon for what it is, for without it you will lose. Lose what is yours." The words were cryptic, sticking into her mind._

_"What? What is the black dragon?" She shouted as he turned and began to walk back towards the throne, his silver hair trailing behind._

_"You know the black dragon," He turned. "I know the black dragon." A smile reached his lips, he rested slowly onto the Iron Throne._

_Go, his voice sounded in her head._

She jumped up with a gasp, the sweat thick on her skin. Glancing over her shoulders quickly she could see the outlines of Robb at the other side, he was snoring quietly. The room was still and dark. Daenerys managed to calm her breath as she approached the window, letting the cold soothe her.

Winterfell was quiet and empty, the wind's song reaching her ears. Through it she heard a sudden grunt, a shout.

Dany perched her head over the ledge, looking either side to see where it was coming from. Nobody was there yet the sound remained. It tempted her curiosity and she could no longer resist to sit and listen.

Dany took hold of her cloak and rested it on her shoulders, pulling the small hood over her head. The corridors of the castle were quiet, empty. When she came outside she could still hear it, the noises that had caught her attention.

 _Is this still a dream?_ She thought endlessly, tracing her steps towards the noise.

As she came around the corner which led to the courtyard, she spotted a small hay-filled dummy being smacked over and over by a sword. Dany stopped at the side of the keep wall, weary whether it was the right decision to confront the one who wielded it.

The groans grew into cries, almost screams. The strikes against the dummy grew louder, faster and pinged with a sharp hiss.

Daenerys couldn't resist, she had to see who it was. Turning she saw the figure of a man, hooded like her with a thin black cloak falling down his back. She approached him slowly, reaching her hand out to his shoulder.

"Stop!" Daenerys tripped back as he turned, holding his sword high and ready to strike. As she shuffled back against the ground, she looked down from the thin blade and saw a familiar face. A face with wet eyes, tears smudging down his cheeks. Red with anger and tinted with sadness.

The face of Jon.

"Dany…" The sword fell from over his head, clattering with the floor. "What are you doing out here?"

"What? What are  _you_  doing?" Dany slowly brought herself back up, watching as he wiped his eyes quickly. He was the last person she expected to see, though as she came to think of it more she couldn't imagine it being anyone else. Jon had been like this ever since she awoke, something happened when she was gone, and she needed to know.

Jon wasn't sure on how to react, he couldn't just leave her there, this wasn't the time where he could just walk away.

"Why are you upset?" Dany watched him as he moved quickly, picking up the damaged sword and resting it on a barrel.

Jon could only bring himself to stop and sigh, resting over the barrel and facing away.

"You need to tell me what's wrong, tell someone." Dany took hold of his arm, turning the brooding figure to face her. He stood still, his head dropped and his eyes plastered to the floor.

"You can't know…" He shook his head, clenching his fists at his sides as he spoke the words.

"I've cared for you these last 3 years Jon, you've been with me every step of the way." He slowly brought his head up, as Dany spoke the words her mind began to descend into the memories she had. She and Jon had always been close, after all he was with her every second of the day being the Lord Commander of the Queensguard. Dany wouldn't stand back while he destroyed himself in his own hidden thoughts.

"You've saved my life many times in the past. Isn't that enough for my trust?" Dany stared into his swirling grey eyes, they were spinning and crazed.

"Yes, but.. I can't."

"Jon." She know stared at him sternly, they were only mere inches apart and she was now piercing him with those daggers of purple.

"In the godswood, tomorrow night." Jon turned and began to dart away, immediately regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. But he needed to get out, he couldn't handle the pressure. He could feel her gaze all the way until he left.

_Seven hells, what had he done._

* * *

The next morning was extremely uncomfortable for the two, Jon trailed behind her like a lost dog and kept his head low behind his helm. Daenerys didn't want to aggravate him even further, simply letting him be, though she couldn't stray her mind from what was to come that night.

Dany even feared slightly what he might tell her, with the stories of him and Drogon anything was possible.

"Dany?" Arya pulled Daenerys back into reality, staring at her vividly.

They were riding beyond the castle walls, the weather had calmed and they had planned to go on a ride for a while. Robb and Jon trailed further behind, keeping a watchful eye over them.

"Sorry." Dany shook her head and faced forward, hearing the leaf's bristle against her ears.

"Are you sure you're alright? You've been…  _Odd_ all morning."

"I'm fine!" Dany forged a laugh and began to gallop forward, causing Arya to only follow.

They rode and rode, the trees and the green a blur.  _Nymeria_ was fast, too fast for Arya to keep up though eventually Dany came to a halt and waited for her. Looking around she could see endless hills and an ocean of trees, the North's nature was truly like no other.

"She's fast..." Arya came pouncing along and gave  _Nymeria_ a pat on the nose, sliding her fingers through the silver mane.

"Yes, too fast even." Dany smiled back up at her, "We should keep going, the path doesn't end here."

"Come on then." Arya let out a giggle and they trailed down the hill, disappearing into the trees.

They carried on moving even further, delving even more into the wood. The further and further Dany got, the more she could forget. Forgot about her dreams, forget about Drogon, her kingdoms, what Jon was going to tell her. All her worries and thoughts washed away.

But all that came to a stop when she heard a shout, a shout from a distance away.

"What was that?" Dany reared  _Nymeria_ coming to a quick stop, Arya halted further in front, turning quickly.

"I don't know.." They continued to look around, trying to push their vision further than what the trees made possible.

"We should.." Arya began to move slowly, staring in concern. "Go back up.."

"Yes." Dany tapped her feet into the sides of  _Nymeria,_ though the mare suddenly squealed and began to topple, sending Dany to the ground for the second time. She searched for what caused her pain, crawling over the horse's body she spotted red leaking through the grey bristles.

An arrow had pierced the underside of her body, burying deep.

"Daenerys, watch out!" Arya leaped off her horse and jumped, as Dany turned she saw her laid above a body wrapped with furs,  _Needle_ plunged into the heart of a man.

Suddenly Daenerys felt a grip around her neck, fierce and rough. Before she could react another took hold of Arya, throwing  _Needle_ from her hands and restraining her.

"Pretty little girl.." She heard a rough voice in her ear, it was no accent she'd ever heard before.

"Let go!" Arya shouted in restraint, shifting and pushing until a man held a dagger to her throat.

"You don't understand what you're doing.." Dany tried her best to stay calm, not letting her  _Targaryen fire_ influence her words.

"I know very well what am' doing little bird." This man placed Dany up against a rock, holding her hands above her head.

"I am the Queen of the seven kingdoms, I demand you let me free."

The man only laughed, he was a gruff man, large like a giant. With a thick ginger beard hanging from his chin.

"A Queen alone in the woods, where are your guards? Huh?" He laughed again, five more men came into view, all smothered in fur clothing. Dany looked back up the path, Jon and Robb were nowhere to be seen.  _What were they thinking, riding off into the woods alone?_

It took three men alone to restrain Arya, even with a weapon to her.

"What shall we do with 'em?" One of the men turned, he was a lot slender compared to the man who restrained Dany, staring half-scared.

"Fuck 'em till they pass out." They began to laugh, and it only made Arya struggle even more.

"I'll kill you all!" Arya screamed "I swear it!"

"Somebody shut her fucking mouth!" The large man sat up, moving like a bear. "What can we do with 'em."

Suddenly a grunt erupted from the crowd of the five men, looking over from Arya, Dany could see the slender figure stood still, the life slipping from his body. A sword beating out of his chest.

Another groan sounded, turning her gaze slightly another man began to fall, an arrow poking out of his back.

"Jon!" Arya screamed past the men restraining her, as the slender body fell it revealed Jon stood behind, the end of  _Longclaw_ stained with blood.

"Arrrgh!" The wild man turned, ripping out his sword and charging.

Jon blocked his strike, sending a shatter through their ears. As they pushed more and more arrows came whistling into the other furred men, sending them grunting to the ground. Arya raised free, quickly gripping  _Needle_  and piercing into the leg of the giant.

"You cunt!" He collapsed to the floor as she poked him again, he was roaring and growling.

"Who are you?" Jon held  _Longclaw_ to his throat, staring fiercely into the dark eyes. The blood of his old comrade trickled down his neck.

His eyes suddenly changed from a stern fright to a relieved look, he moved his vision over and Jon suddenly felt a spiked pressure.

"Leave him boy." A woman called out from behind him, pressing the cold tip of the arrow to his neck. She stared intensely at the shaking figure which was Arya, threatening.

"Tell your  _friend_  to drop his sword or he dies." Jon could hear the stretch of a bow string, he looked at Dany, then Arya before letting his grip loose on  _Longclaw._

"Good." She pushed the arrow against his neck, forcing him forward towards Daenerys. "And you.." She aimed at Arya, the woman too was wrapped in furs, ginger hair falling from within the hood.

"You're from north of the Wall.." Jon breathed heavily, standing in front of Arya and Daenerys.

"Doesn't matter where I'm from.." She picked the other man up, still holding her bow ready.

From behind the trees Dany heard a rustle in the bushes, staring she caught site of Robb. He was crouching and moving slowly up the hill, his sword in hand.

"You think you'll get away with this?" Dany had to catch their attention, the two of them turned and woman hiked up her bow again.

"Jon!" Robb jumped through the bushes, swiping his sword swiftly at the back of the woman's legs, sending her to the ground. Jon reacted instantly and tackled the large man, they clashed hard with the dirt. Jon could feel the man's face busting beneath his fist, he pounded at him in hope he would lose consciousness, though the  _wildling_ sustained.

"Leave it!" Arya tugged on the back of his cloak, Jon fell back and rested his bloodied knuckles onto the grains of dirt and grass smothering the ground.

"I won't fail to kill you this time." Arya placed  _Needle_ against the man's throat, the blood from his face fell down onto it.

Robb restrained the woman, holding her down as she wrestled. Daenerys quickly moved to  _Nymeria,_ holding the bleeding horse as it let out its final cries.

* * *

"They won't talk, they're not like us." Jon rest against the door frame, his arms crossed. Ned, Catelyn, Robb and Dany all sat on the table at the other side of the room. "You can torture them, starve them, and they still won't talk."

"What are  _wildlings_ doing north of the wall?" Robb looked across them for answers.

"There are plenty of them beyond the Wall, trust me." Jon walked back in and sat, ever since the event he'd acted at the forefront of the discussions. He served the Night's Watch for 2 years, and in that time he learnt a lot.

"Questioning them. It's the only way we'll learn why they're here."

"Yes, but they won't tell us a thing."

"Let them see my dragons, then they'll talk." Dany slowly put in, all the eyes turned to her.

"Rhaegal and Viserion are in King's Landing, Drogon is… Gone." Jon shook his head, quickly dismissing the idea.

"He isn't gone." Dany stared at him sternly, bringing him back to look at her. As Dany gazed longer at him she began to remember that same face, angry and upset. Then it began to dawn on them both, what was waiting that night.

"Think about it." Ned looked between them both, "We will come to a decision on the morrow." He placed down his mug onto the table, standing quickly.

"I will have five guards outside their cells at all times. They shall stay there, for now."

"The summer is coming to an end," Jon caught Eddard's attention.

"Winter is coming."

* * *

The night had come too quick, too fast for Jon and even Daenerys. He sat himself down in the godswood, shivering as the wind shook the trees.

 _Go, go she isn't coming._ Jon told himself over, seeing himself raise and leave the wood. Even though he had thought it countless times in true he still sat, lost in the dead leaves.

Dany caught eye of Jon as she emerged from around the corner, walking closer as he lifted himself from the ground.

"You're here." Jon took the torch from her hands, the fire lit up the small pond in the godswood, their own reflections flickering back up at them.

" _You're_  here.." Dany pulled the cloak further around her. "Did anyone see you?"

"No."

Jon's eyes hit the floor, as the thoughts loomed back to him. He was avoiding it like Ned had, trying the best to think around it.

"Jon." She caught his attention, wrapping her hand around his sleeve. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." He took an intake of breath, preparing himself. He'd spent that  _long night_ thinking of lies, lies that he could tell her. But Dany could see when he was lying, she could always sense it in his words.

"Whatever it is Jon, you can say it."

 _No, no you don't want to know what it is._ Jon brought his head up, looking down at her and hesitating the words.

"You're alright?" Jon began, looking through the cold air he breathed out. "After today, after what happened."

"Yes." Dany let out a small smile, "How did you know where we were?"

"We followed the track, saw you down the road." Jon's expression turned serious, "I'm sorry for everything that's happened."

"It's not your fault, none of it is. You think too low of yourself, Jon Stark."

_Stark._

"You stopped the dragon, you stopped Drogon from burning Winterfell." Dany admitted what she knew, watching as he caught on to her words.

"You know?"

"Of course I do."

Dany let out a laugh and moved closer, feeling the surprising heat surrounding his body.

"I expected to die then, die like a fool. I don't know why I did it." Even in the dark her violet eyes still flared, the silver hair gathering around her shoulders. Jon eyes trailed to side, a solemn smile reaching his face.

"You are brave, and you care for your family and the people. That is why you did it. I myself once stepped into a burning pyre."

Dany had never seen him like this, seen Jon with no front. She took in every moment of it, and watched as he transitioned from a smile to a frown, the pressing matters coming to his mind again. Snow was scattered in his hair, bringing out the grey in his eyes.

"Daenerys…" His tone was so worried, so full of meaning. "I-"

His words suddenly stopped with his heart.

The world ended behind his closed eyes.

His body fell numb.

The taste from Dany's lips against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention last chapter, the summer is only just coming to an end in this. Winter is coming, with fire and blood.
> 
> I'm also going to posting an alternate timeline of events for this story, like what happened in comparison to canon, just so you can get a better grip of the back story. It won't be a story or anything, just a list.
> 
> I found this chapter quite hard to write, because I obviously had to implement the kiss into it somehow and I just wasn't sure on what was best. Though I think what I've done is reasonable, she's known Jon for the last 3 years and cared for him, but all these things arising about him as made her see him differently, the reveal of his parentage has changed Jon and she's attracted to his brooding side. What she can't get from Robb she does from Jon,and now she's just got to that point. The two are slowly repairing their relationship though.
> 
> I love the character Robb, so he will continue to be a large part of the story. And YES THE NEW CHARACTERS! I enjoyed that bit, and if you didn't guess the two free-folk are Tormund and Ygritte.
> 
> Thanks for reading, have a nice day!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright this is the last chapter that was already posted on FF.NET, so now the story is up-to-date on A03.  
> Also, certain parts in this chapter changes POV without a break, so just beware hahaha

**Author's**   **Note:**   _I would appreciate comments on the work, it's what motivates me and it's the only way I can improve. I know some of you might have just read the 4 chapters straight, so now if you could leave a review I would greatly appreciate it!_ _  
_

**Please check out the Tumblr page for this story** -

http://theyoungwolfxii.tumblr.com/

* * *

 

_"_ _We're all human. Oh, we all do our duty when there's no cost to it. Honour comes easy then. Yet sooner or later in every man's life there comes a day when it's not easy. A day when he must choose"_

She could feel the fire flush through her skin. Her mind was half-away when the wind had smacked her back into the real world, it had become louder now, the sheer shaking of the leaves rattling her ears. And yet still the world had ended beyond the boundaries of the godswood.

Dany couldn't dare to open her eyes, not until he opened his. Their lips still lingered, locked as they lost themselves in shock. She told herself over and over to move, to do what was right. Every second seemed longer than the last. But a voice in her head was saying she didn't want to, and yet another one screamed  _run! Go, now!_. Dany felt him slip away, doing what she couldn't, though his familiar warmth still remained.

As the light met her opening eyes, she could see Jon with his head plastered to the floor. Daenerys become in lost in a daze of feelings that she herself couldn't understand, ultimately blaming her actions on  _them._ Yet still, after what had just happened, she couldn't leave Jon alone to face the floor in shame like he'd done something wrong.  _He hasn't done anything wrong, he never has._

As her hand came to reach Jon's cheek, his whole figure suddenly darted back, eyes still not leaving the ground. The sudden jump startled Dany, causing her hand to ease back before coming forward again.

"Jon.."  _No, please, please-listen, stop!_

He shook his head, so heavy and slow like it was a weight crushing him down. His feet stepped lightly through the army of dead leaves. "No.." He whispered through his thick breaths, he looked up once more, his eyes as cold as the wind around them. Then she could only see his cloak, the black back of it as he rushed through the trees, leaving Dany to stand alone cold in the gaze of the striking eyes of the carved face in the tree. The blood red canopy that seemed in shine in the light of the moon, surrounding, smothering.

_What have I done?_  Dany thought against the weak reason in her mind. She deserved to be left alone in the wood,  _alone as the stupid girl that I am_. Someone who never thought about others, someone who only acted for themselves.

The wind still whistled, striking waves past her without any stop. She couldn't feel the cold, the thoughts boiling in her body summoned an uncomfortable heat. Heavy and scolding, burning through the barriers of her mind. Though suddenly she felt a cold prick on the skin of her arm, looking down slowly a flake of snow had landed on her, soaking and vanishing almost instantly on impact. Then more came, and more, and then even more, leaving Dany breathless as the cold soothed her.

That was when she realised, no matter how she felt, about herself, everything. She could never go back and change it, she'd done what she'd done.  _It was right, I don't regret it. No, I can't._

_If I look back, I'm lost._

His blurred march came to an end as Jon found himself lost behind the great keep, he placed little focus into where he was going, his legs just seemed to move underneath him. A natural reaction to what had occurred. Outside was empty as expected, and Jon was glad for it. Nobody would see the state of him. Returning to Winterfell was something that he yearned for, however now he would do anything to be free from within its grey dusky walls _._

_Why?_ Jon could see her face even now, guilt was consuming him for something that she had done. Dany was just the wife to his brother  _cousin_. The Queen. But was she just that to Jon? Was she ever that?

* * *

The cell block at Winterfell shed little light, not enough for Jon and his thoughts that morning. The familiar howl of the crows had awoken him early and as soon as he broke his fast he crept his way to the cells. Two guards were positioned at the outer door, armed and armoured to the brim, another two at the other side, and the last stood beyond the walls of the cells. Their thick brown leather made Jon feel out of place, to be stuck behind that golden breastplate that morning was the last thing he wanted.

Jon opened the door to the cell quarters quietly, the whole structure was abandoned far to the east of the great keep. Heavily guarded compared to the dungeons, reserved for those held of much more serious crimes. The initial two guards jolted forward as he approached them, one of them sticking out their hand.

"No-one is allowed entrance, on the orders of Lord Stark." He spoke with authority, his stance high and stout. His left hand was held loosely on the tip of his swords pommel.

"I'm here on the orders of the Queen Daenerys." Jon lied, luckily a few stray curls covered his eyes, making it hard for them to see his hesitation. Even mentioning her name made him recall the events of the night before, though they were quickly shot away by the investigating eyes of the guards.

The two men exchanged glances, swallowing uneasily. They were loyal to Lord Stark's words, yet what were they to do when a Queensguard, family to the Lord of Winterfell, comes on the Queens command?

"Go on.." One of the guards took hold of the handle, opening it slowly as he gave in. Jon walked through with a nod, passing the other two guards on the inside.

As Jon moved he took quick glances of the cells at his right, behind the thick black bars were people of all different stories. First he saw a young thin man, rags falling loosely from his body. He sat on his bunk staring vividly as he caught eye of Jon.

"You?" He jumped, his face against the iron. "Are you a knight?" He face lit up like he'd seen the old gods himself, a stare in his eyes that Jon had never felt.

"Shut 'ap!" The gruff guard smacked the bars, sending the thin man back to his bunk. His eyes quickly diverted from Jon, like he was unworthy to stare.

Jon didn't gaze at each one of them long enough after that, moving forward until he reached the two  _free folk_  prisoners.

"Look who it is.." The woman perched her head up, lying down on her bunk. From the noises of Jon's armour she most likely knew he was already coming. The man in the corner, wrapped in a ball of his own furs also brought his head up.

"The fuck you want?" He spoke in a grungy tone, his eyes still not reaching him. Their resistance was enough for anyone to tell who they were, whether they knew it or not.

"I know who you are." Jon looked at them both, the woman brought herself up with her elbows. "You know nothing." She looked up and down him, like she was disgusted. Beyond the wall there was no shed of decency for the  _southerners,_  yet they still plotted to cross it and live with them all the same.

"Who are you? Some southron knight whose better at-" The woman paused, searching her thoughts. "Riding in fancy games than proper fighting?"

"Ask your friend." Jon pointed towards the man in the corner, the marks and bruises stamped so clearly on his face. "Was it not a fight he wanted?" Jon regretted the words, but held his stance. He was hardly ever the person to tease, but these people didn't know him and could scrutinize him for it. The woman though stared like she knew him better than he knew himself, smirking weirdly at everything he said.

"Easy thing to say.." The giant darted quicker than a crow itself, his eyes staring right into him. "To a man behind bars."

Jon moved closer, challenging him. He'd faced men just as tough over his time in the Queensguard. "Do you know what happens to people who attack a Queen? Here, south of the wall?"

"Torture? Hanging, beheading? Drop us off the Wall back to where we belong, huh?" He turned and laughed "And you, her bodyguard?" Sitting down in the corner, burying the dangling beard into the furs on his chest. "You aren't doing ya' job properly."

"Why are you here?" Jon shook his head, feeling humiliated at the comments. There were true, he wasn't doing anything right. He asked the question with most of him already knowing the answer, the  _wildlings_ were only scared of one thing.

"Tormund." Jon looked across at the woman, "I be Ygritte. If we're here now, we may as well be proper."

"Jon." He hesitated, his head dropping.  _Snow, Stark, Targaryen._

"Jon Stark."

"Well Jon Stark. What do you know about  _us_?" Ygritte stared amusingly, just waiting to make a shame of him.

"I served the Night's Watch, at Castle Black. I know plenty about you." The change in her expression was so clear, Jon could sense it without even looking.

"Well Jon the  _crow_ , what brought you here? Couldn't keep your cock in your pants? Broke your vows? Why haven't they took your pretty head?" Tormund stared at him, tapping his foot against the ground.

"Orders. Order brought me here." Jon swallowed uneasily, "I know what's beyond the wall."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I've seen it." Jon gripped the bars, seeing  _them_  even now through his eyes. "I've seen the Others, I know they're out there."

"Then you know why we are here." Tormund stood slowly, his boots planting a thud against the wet floor. His shadow blocked the light in Jon's eyes, the terror clear on his face.

"Do we deserve to die for wanting to live?" Ygritte stood as well, the both of their stares crushing Jon into a mere boy.

_No._

_"_ But.." Jon shifted unusually. "You still did what you did. And I can't forget that."

* * *

Jon scurried from the quarters and even though he didn't look back, those burning gazes still drove their way into him. Not only was their hair struck with fire, so were their damn eyes. He passed the guards, reflecting on the words over and over in his head. The dead live beyond the Wall, and winter is coming. Whatever wildlings that were left would all do the same, try for a better life, fight for the lives of their children.

Jon rushed down the hall, holding  _Longclaw_ tightly for a false sense of protection. The life in Winterfell was only just rising, the sounds of the men lighting their braziers and the women waking their children.

"Jon." He heard the voice that he didn't want to hear that morning, and he prepared himself before turning. "What you doing up this early?"

"I could say the same for you, Robb." Jon turned, seeing Robb with his leather jerkin and huge cloak. They met with a hug, Jon was everything but cold that morning. Holding faintly.

"You see them?" Robb moved back and patted Jon's arm, his tone now solemn.

"Aye, I talked to them." The two began walking. "They told me why they're here."

Robb furrowed his brow, pushing the door to the courtyard open. "What? They gave in so easily?"

"I know, but. They're scared." Jon stopped in front of him, "They only want to live on _this_  side of the wall. Two wildlings isn't going to create chaos for the kingdoms."

"And do you think that Daenerys, or Arya is going to care about what they want? Arya's bent on having them killed." Robb shrugged his shoulders, whatever Jon had gone through at the Wall he seldom talked about. Those two years of his brother's life were a mystery to him. But one thing he knew, it was a different man that he'd first seen 3 years ago in the throne room of King's Landing.

"Have you seen her? Dany?" Jon asked him uneasily, clearing his nose.

"No, not since yesterday." Robb watched him as he began to cross the courtyard, his white cloak shaking through the wind. "Why?"

"I want to know how long those two have left." Jon shouted back to him, shaking his head. It was a lie, all of it. Every time he looked at him he saw it again. He couldn't bring himself to tell Robb of what happened the night before, and part of him didn't regret it. The King and the Queen might have not been the closest, but Jon couldn't bear to have his own kin stare at him in such a way, hate him.  _Let me bear this burden for the rest of my days, I already have so many others._  If Robb was ever going to find out, it would be Daenerys who told him. _But, I should tell him. I'm his.. Brother._ Jon had always thought he would do the right thing, no matter what,  _but what do I know?_

_What do I, know?_

Robb trailed the immaculate edges on his white cloak, his eyes stuck until they disappeared behind the grey wall. Gold and white were never Jon's colours, but a fighter and a protector he was. He quickly took hold of himself, tugging on the strip of fur at his neck to stop the breeze. From the courtyard he saw a moving figure in the great keep, a blue shaking against the grey cobbles.

Arya's eyes were gazing, searching across the buildings, the walls, and the land beyond them. Her now long hair tangled in curls around her shoulders and back, something Catelyn was very thankful for. She smiled as she took in the scent, the scent that she was all too familiar with.

"Robb?" She caught eye of him, brushing the hair from her eyes. The girl searched his attire, her eyes widening when she caught sight of the sword on his belt.

"I was just coming to see you." He smiled back, his arms wrapped inside is cloak.

"No, don't yet." Arya took hold of a tangled strand, holding it out as an example. "I'm not ready."

Robb laughed, rubbing the coldness from his head. "When did you ever care about that?"

Before she could respond, a sound came from her back and she turned back into the room. Robb stared up in surprise, watching the last of the blue slip away.

_Whoever it is, they shouldn't be here now._ Arya quickly reached for  _Needle_ sprung across her bed, the footsteps became louder as the door clanked. In a swift movement, she poked the blade under the sheets, swiping it elegantly.

_It's not Sansa, not her._ Arya thought to herself. Sansa wouldn't be upon her chambers this early, not now that she had to walk a long distance to get there. Anytime that Sansa came to her was when she was in the mood for sisterly bonding, something not  _so_ appealing to Arya.

_Father?_ If Eddard had come to see her personally, this early, he had something important to tell her. He would always make sure the two were alone when they had something to discuss, no-one else to sway their words.  _Winter is coming_ he would always cryptically point out to her, repeating it after every question.

_Jon?_ Arya hadn't seen him this morning, she was yet to be blessed by those golden flares bouncing from his armour.

_Bran? Rickon?_

"Arya!" The intruder emerged and the young girl started from the bottom, gazing from feet covered by the bottom of a dress, blue and grey lining that worked its way up to the clasped chest. She caught site of the red hair.

_Mother._

"Arya! Get yourself ready!" Catelyn urged her, staring wide-eyed.

"I was! I only just woke!" Arya yelled back in her defence, swinging her arms up.

Catelyn reached for the dress hanging over Arya's dresser, rushing forward and holding it up against her body.

"Have you forgotten it's your father's nameday?"

_Yes._

"No." Arya sighed as her mother adjusted the dress to her scale, ever since the girl had flowered Catelyn had noticed her incredible growth. And she now often took the liberty upon herself to shower Arya with lady-like niceties.

Though that was not her. Arya was wild, fierce, a true wolf. Her years spent stale at Winterfell had sent her life dry of all the things she enjoyed  _besides family._ But since Jon had returned she was herself again,  _Needle_ always at her side.

"You're not a girl anymore, Arya." Catelyn had retrieved the brush, moving to her back. "Soon you may be wed an-"

"No! I don't want that." Arya turned to face her with the brush still tangled in her hair, nothing but seriousness in her Stark eyes.

"You're a Lady…" Catelyn placed her hand into one of Arya's stray strands, "I'm sorry, but it is what it is."

With that Arya turned, a frown overcoming her features.

_I am no Lady…_

* * *

Daenerys had found little sleep that night. The bubbling thoughts in her mind wouldn't allow her the leisure, the right to rest from it. The eyes of that weirwood, piercing. The blood canopy that seemed to suffocate. When she tried to shove aside the bleeding eyes she only saw the grey ones, both of them as equally glooming.

"Your grace!" The handmaiden rushed to Dany's side as she got up from the bed, Cira was her name. She was black of hair and pale skinned, born in the far corners of the Reach.

"Are you alright?" She asked concernedly and Dany only shook her head, moving forward lightly.

"Could you please bring me some food?" Dany forced a smile through the pain on her face, stretching her arms widely.

"Yes of course, your grace." Cira bowed, turning quickly towards the door.

"And water. Don't forget water." Dany caught her just before she left, the dryness clear in her voice and Cira nodded once more.

Through the door Dany noticed a golden figure, one of her guard. Though there would always be guards posted outside her door, seeing them this time only spurred her thoughts. She knew it wasn't Jon, he always wore a grey hand wrap around his glove, originally a cloth with the Stark sigil knitted into it.  _Ever since the Ambush at Dragonstone, he's wore that cloth._

_Why?_ She couldn't think why, but in her head she couldn't recall ever seeing him without that wrapped around his hand, not whilst he was acting as her guard.

Dany slowly sat herself down at the table, staring across into the dying fire in the brazier. Watching flicks and orbs of orange flicker against the black of the ashes reminded her of Drogon, wherever her dragon was. And that reminded Dany of the black and blue beast in her dreams, with teeth as long as greatswords and wings so large they could shadow an entire forest. And Rhaegar, and the other  _black_   _dragon_  and the eyes of blue and the cries of winter.

"Guard?" Dany called aloud and put an end to her thoughts, within a few seconds the gold-plated knight came marching in.

"Your Grace." He bowed, a face swept of emotion behind the helm.

"Where is the Lord Commander?" Daenerys pattered her fingers against the table, uncaring of the pale lilac nightgown she wore and her hair tattered in silver strands messily.

"I'm afraid I have not seen him, your grace. I was assigned duty all morning."

Daenerys sighed at that, letting her eyes return to the dim brazier. She had to make a decision quick, and she knew the longer they both sank in their thoughts the worst their inevitable reunion would be.

"Please, find him." The door croaked open. "Bring him here."

"Yes, your grace." The knight turned quickly and strode out, the absence of his large figure revealed Cira.

"Here." Cira brought the tray of food to the table, turning her head slightly as the door closed.

"You were quick." Dany stared at the tray, licking her lips.

"The kitchens are not so far away any more, your gr-"

"Dany."

"Yes, of course, Dany."

Reminding those she was close to of her name was something as almost demanding as being Queen.  _Everyone! Everyone forgets!_

"Is there a problem?" Cira sat down across from her, pushing the tray further.

"With who?" Dany took the first bite, savouring the taste it left in her mouth.

"The Lord Commander?"

_Yes. A big problem._

"No. We... There are protection matters to be discussed of the feast tonight that is all." Daenerys chomped quietly on the food, hoping that her lie succeeded and Cira didn't notice the red on her cheeks.

Cira only nodded and stared around, like she couldn't find something to latch her eyes onto. Being a handmaiden she was always working, so often that working was the only thing she knew. As Dany had expected Cira suddenly darted up and took hold of a brush, and began tearing it through the tangles of the Queens silver hair.

"It will be a big feast?" As well as working, Cira always had to have something to talk about as well.

"I expect." Daenerys swallowed the water, "It is for the Lord of Winterfell, and we are in Winterfell."

"If I may say, he doesn't look like someone who would be too fond of celebrations."

Dany laughed at the trembling tone of her voice, like it was a crime to say such things. "I suppose the North are not famous for it."

The morning went on, the sun rising thankfully in full sight and the halls being prepared. Daenerys watched it all go by as she ate, dressed and finally left her personal chambers. She didn't see Jon nor did she see the guard she sent to look for him, not until she came into the courtyard.

"Your grace." He pushed through the workers who carried crates and trays.

"I gave you an order." Dany scowled him, lifting her chin high as he approached.

He finally got to her, as he stopped walking he returned back to his statue like stance. This time however his face was pinched with the slight disappointment, clearly as he had failed the order she had given.

"I couldn't find him, your grace."

_Oh gods, what if he's left? Rode away from Winterfell? Left his family because of me?_

* * *

He swore he was lost. He had no idea which way it was from here.

A few torches ago was when the realisation reached him, when he finally stopped rushing down the passages and decided to think. Jon turned left, then right, then right again before he came along the long stretch. Rows of torches which were placed on the outer columns of each gap, and in each gap were statues. Statues of stone which stood, sat, and watched.

He didn't recognise most of them, all the past kings and lords of Winterfell. Though one of them caught his eye, a statue of a solemn man standing. He was tall and broad,  _Brandon Stark_ he thought,  _Eddard's older brother, they were very different? If it was him instead, would he have waited all these years to tell me?_

Questions he would ask himself. But there was no purpose in hoping things would've perhaps been different, whether finding out as a child would've changed it. But then why was he here in the first place? He tried and tried to tell himself that he didn't care for it, it didn't mean nothing now. Finally, Jon reached the figure he'd been looking for, and as a mother should it put his thoughts to rest, it ended the gazes of all those eyes on him.

He finally felt a speck of peace.

There was a feather placed in her hands, balancing on her palm. It was so thin and looked so light that Jon was surprised even the slight breeze in the crypts hadn't sent it away. He placed his hand upon it, and past the cold stone he could feel the layer of warmth. His hand was the same size of hers, except how his fingers would reach far up her wrist.

"Mother…" The words came out louder than what he wanted, echoing through the halls. Jon looked over his shoulders, just to make sure nobody else was there.

"I.." It didn't sound like him anymore, there was something gone from his words. He'd spent his whole life thinking Ned Stark was his father, dealing with the title of  _Bastard._ Accepting it. And even though now he may have a new identity, legitimized at first and now one that means he was no true bastard at all. Jon had lost a huge part of him, a part that he'd spent his whole life trying to nurture.

He looked up into her eyes, they were grey and stone. But Jon, Jon saw blue. Swirling eyes as blue as the ocean, pupils darker than her hair. Dark long hair, as long as Daenerys' but as dark as Arya's. Through his eyes he saw the stone crack and shatter, and her skin take life again in the torchlight. Her skin was as pale as his but it was just as warm, she wore a blue luxury dress that beamed out the colour in her eyes. She would look down and see her son, no longer a babe but a man. And she would smile.

_Don't you worry,_ she spoke. Her voice was something he must've heard, but Jon was too much in a trance. She knelt down slowly, her eyes taking in the sight of him. Blue rose-petals would fall from her dress and land at her feet, others would scatter across the floor.

_I never knew, if I did then I would've, I-_ Jon heard his own voice, though his lips did not part. And she must have heard it to, she brought her hands to the side of his head and smiled again.

_Don't you worry,_ she moved forward and pressed a kiss to his head. Jon slumped forward, feeling like a little boy wrapped in his mother's arms, but it was something he wanted to feel, to have his own mother comfort him and love him.

_I don't know what to do,_ Jon felt her face move away, but her hands still held his cheeks.  _What I am.._

_Who you are matters not so much if you don't act upon it,_ Jon heard her voice again and his whole heart wanted to cry.  _None of this was your fault, nothing was ever your fault._

_No,_ he opened his eyes. Feeling upset that in this short time his mother had started to cry.

_Jon,_ she called his name and he was silenced. He felt like he was Robb being scolded by Catelyn, like he was always used to submitting to her.

_You are the prince,_ her ocean-blue eyes peered into him.  _The prince that was promised, and yours is the song of ice and fire._

_My father,_ Jon's face was covered by concern. He didn't dare to think about Rhaegar, the man was only a story to him, dead before they could ever meet.  _Did he know of me? Want me?_

Lyanna's face lightened with a warm smile and she kissed his head again, her hands were stroking back her son's curls from his eyes and her thumbs would slide through the hair on his face.

_He would lay with me and talk to you every night, whisper things I couldn't hear._ Jon returned a smile hearing that, seeing the words come from his own mother.

_Though he told me that his words would make you strong, a true dragon._ She slid her hands down to his shoulders and held tightly.

_It is your destiny, my sweet child._ Jon's eyes closed as he listened, and he had no other choice but to believe them. He was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and as much a dragon as he was a wolf.

The coldness creeped back into him and he felt the loss of her hands, her warmth and breathing. Opening his eyes he saw the grey and stone again, but he knew what he'd saw. Treading back slightly he stumbled, and looking down he saw a winter rose laying against the stone.

And suddenly there were tears in his eyes.

* * *

Celebrations, he wasn't too fond of them.

Eddard had woke early that morning, and was reminded instantly by his wife of what was to happen that day. Though this time it would be different to his past namedays, not only was the Queen Daenerys here to celebrate so was Jon. And he hoped to settle the thoughts between them, to finally give him rest.

However the sun had not settled yet, the wine hadn't found the cups. And there were still duties to be performed through the day.

_The wildlings,_ Eddard remembered as he made his way from his chambers. Having them held prisoner and beyond the Wall was something he didn't know how to tackle altogether, he had no clue of their motives, still Ned wasn't a man to immediately take their heads without hearing them. Though the Queens rule will outweigh mine, and she is not one to show mercy to those who fight against her.

"Father.." He heard a sweet voice call from behind him as he moved down the corridor, turning he saw Sansa. As always and unlike Arya, she was prepared and dressed that morning. Her Tully red hair falling to her back and a grey and silver gown blending with the themes of Winterfell, she was Catelyn come again.

"Sansa…" He moved forward and kissed her forehead, "I would say congratulations on your nameday.." She smirked and Ned realised she must've seen his frown.

"Thank you." Ned took hold of his daughters arm and they began to walk calmly down the corridor.

"Listen, Sansa." Ned looked around him as he talked, Sansa was no longer a naïve girl, and he would have to speak truly to her.

"I know that you would, perhaps prefer to not be here anymore." He saw Sansa nod slightly as he talked, though those words brought a confused look to her face.

"What do you mean?"

"You'll be celebrating your twentieth nameday soon, and I expect that you'd rather be with a husband and be the lady of castle by now."

He hadn't forgotten what had happened to his daughter, he would always remember. The experience itself had ultimately shot down Sansa, scarring her into a different person. They reached the exit of the Great Keep, and the light and the sounds flashed through as Ned pushed open the doors.

"Father." Sansa moved to his front, her face looking worried. Ned took hold of her hands and placed them together, holding them tight.

"I've asked the Daenerys if she can take you to King's Landing when she returns." Even though her worried expression remained, Ned noticed the flash in her eyes. Perhaps that is what she wants, deep down. It is what would be best for her. "You'll be safe there, now Daenerys is the Queen and Robb is King. It won't be the same as last time."

Ned noticed Jon behind her and quickly averted his gaze, he could see Jon still held the brooding expression, though there was a subtle calmness back to him that he'd once seen in the old training yard.

"Jon!" Ned caught his attention and Jon came to a stop, turning he saw them both and a small smile reached the corners of his mouth.

"Have you spoke to the prisoners?" Ned asked as Jon approached them, the frown returning to his own face.

"Yes." He looked to the floor, thinking back at what they said.

"And what do you think we should do?"

Jon sighed and looked back up at him, like he was ready to speak, though his eyes then came to Sansa and he swallowed uneasily. "Leave them until tomorrow, there's no rush."

"My Lord." Ned turned and saw Dany moving across the courtyard towards them, a handmaiden and a Queensguard at her back.

"Your grace." He and Sansa bowed slightly, though Jon only continued to stare into the dirt. Dany met them and they all huddled together like a pack of wolves, the rest of the courtyard moving around them.

"Lord Commander." The Queensguard called out Jon, who still remained unmoving. He swayed his head right and saw the knight stood awaiting his command.

"Go on." Jon shook his head and the Queensguard nodded and left. He looked at Daenerys, and as his eyes met hers she quickly took them away.

"We were just discussing the matter of the prisoners." Ned broke the silence.

"Yes? Come on, it's cold out here." Dany began to walk through the courtyard and the rest of them followed, besides Sansa who went the same direction the Queensguard had moved.

She led them into an empty dining room, where they scattered around the table. Eddard noticed how the two didn't exchange a single glance.

"Robb?" Ned asked Dany, looking around the room for him.

"He's with Arya, and Lady Catelyn." Dany sat down and put her hands together at her lap, Ned and Jon finally followed.

"So, have you decided what our best course of action is?" She looked straight on to the table, like she was scared to look at either Jon or Ned.

"Well," Ned began, resting one hand onto the wood. "Jon?"

Jon looked up at him, biting his lip as he hesitated to talk. "I think its best we leave this discussion until after the feast."

Dany shook her head, but still didn't look at him. "No." Her words were full of authority, "We'll deal with this now."

There was however an underlying regret in her words, Eddard noticed. Jon sealed his eyes shut and sighed, like every second there was chipping away at him.

"Then we should speak to them first." Ned tried to calm the atmosphere, which felt boiling around them.

"No. I've spoken to them." Jon brought his head up, "What is killing them going to do? Nothing. We gather information from them."

"You were the one who said they wouldn't talk." Daenerys looked at him now, her words as stubborn as steel.

"Yes, but if we tell them they'll live. Guarantee their freedom. Then they might just-"

"Might?" Dany almost shouted, shaking her head in disagreement. Jon clasped his mouth shut and shook his head again, Dany stared with her eyes narrowed. "Lord Stark, please can you give us a moment."

_What? You'll tear each other apart._

"Yes, of course." Ned stood from his chair, pushing it back with a screech.

* * *

The door shut with a thud, causing Jon to sigh again. He scratched his fingers across the pommel of  _Longclaw,_ following the patterns of the white-wolf head. He was just waiting for Daenerys to speak again, and for a moment his mind thought back to what he saw in the crypts, causing him to smile on the inside.

"Jon.."

_What?_ To his shock her tone had calmed and her voice seemed on the edge of breaking into a cry. He looked across and met her gaze, her violet eyes seemed to shine. She wore a white gown and her silver hair was flowing down her back.

_Beautiful as always,_ Jon thought. But now it seemed like something forbidden to think of. His own bloody mind was betraying him.

"Please." Dany whispered, she placed both her hands against the table. "I wanted to speak about.."

"What did you expect, Dany?" Jon sighed, staring vividly at her.

"Don't.."

"You are the Queen. And my.. Brother is, he's the King." Jon brought his hands onto the table.

"I know. But, I don't regret what I did." Dany lifted her chin high as he stared at her, shocked.

"You don't" Jon's brow furrowed.

"No. If I can't... I don't, want to." Dany cleared her throat, pressing both her hands onto her lap. "I can't stand to see you like this, not even for a morning Jon. You know more about me than anyone, as Dany. And you need to know that you can trust me. Like you did before, you were going to tell me about-"

"But why did you?" Jon suddenly sighed, desperate to get an answer.

"I don't know.." Dany thought back to when she met his lips, she though knew why, but she didn't dare to think of it now. To listen to what he'd roar in response.

"I can't." Jon spoke and shook his head slowly. "I can't trust, look at you same way, not now."

"You can't trust me? After all this time?" Daenerys asked and shook her head, watching him stand.

"I'll see you at the feast, your grace." Jon spoke coldly and went for the door, causing Dany to jump.

"No!"

Jon kept walking, clouding his thoughts so he couldn't hear her.

"Stop!"

The known thud of the door silenced her.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set, and the feast was going to commence at any moment. They could hear it, the cheers of the people and the laughs, and the stomping,  _oh the stomping._

"Wish they'd shut up for just a while." Ygritte sighed and sat up in her bunk, staring at the barred window at the top of their cell. "I'd rather be in the dungeons at this point."

"Aye," Tormund reached for the tray shoved through the bottom of the bars, grabbing a thick chunk of bread. "But they want to let us hear them laughing, see the life outside. They have cunning, these southern lot. Not like us.."

Ygritte offered a laugh and began tugging on some strands of furs on her clothes. "We'd 'av slit their throats by now, if we wa' feelin' kind."

Tormund took large bite out of the bread and sat up, it was as hard as a rock. "I think if they were going to kill us, we'd already be dead."

"I thought he was comin' to get us, that Jon Stark. It's bad int'it? That they'd make us follow the person who'd take our heads." Ygritte looked once more at the barred window, thinking of how large the castle might be. They were blindfolded when they were brought there, the reason why they couldn't understand, they knew hardly anything of the place.

"If he's a crow, then we might have a chance." Tormund swallowed rock.

"Was a crow," Ygritte looked back at him, "Crows hate us, don't listen to us, how can we ever have a chance of bargaining with a crow?"

"He knows what's happening, past the wall in the winter. Nobody here cares if we live or die, nobody back there cares if we live or die. All they care about is themselves. But if he does a listen, he has the power to do something about it."

"D'ya think he's a Lord?"

"I thought you said he was a knight?"

"Well, he 'as got that gold armour."

"He's prettier than both my fucking daughters. He's a guard, is he?"

Ygritte sighed and fell back, resting her head onto the furs of her own hood. "What does it matter? Ya can't stop what's out there."

"Well, now we're hiding behind the Wall. Let us breathe a little longer before they come. And if anything's gunna kill me here, I don't want it to be some fucking knight."

* * *

The feast had begun and the Great Hall was flooded. Six benches were rowed, each of them smothered with food and wine and people. There was a cheerful fire burning in the hearth, and several torches lit up the rest of the room. Further up, the same as when Dany first arrived, a large stage held the members of most importance.

To Eddard's shock, he enjoyed the feast greatly. Seeing his people celebrating and his family laughing. He sat in the center traditionally, Catelyn and Robb at his sides. He wore a black and blue outfit, especially reserved for times like this, and it was the first time in a long time people had seen him genuinely laugh so much.

Catelyn wore her customary blue-gown, something people never tired seeing. She was happy, most to see her husband so joyful but the good atmosphere was certainly a strong one. At Cat's side sat Arya, who reluctantly had stuck herself into a dress that night. She was Lyanna, in every way of looking. Ned was left speechless when she came into the hall, both out of joy and sadness.

Sansa was just like her mother, but younger and in her stage of blossoming. She spent a lot of her time so far caring for needs of Rickon, and the feast was the perfect place for to finally have her own rest.

"This is very nice, Ned. Truly." Catelyn took hold of Ned's arm, smiling contently.

"It is." They met with a kiss, and for Eddard the night was complete.

"Watch out, the people are looking." Robb started to laugh, "Spare them of such sights."

"Shut it." Ned slapped his shoulder and took another drink of wine, looking amongst the vast crowd once more.

Daenerys came back into the hall after leaving for a few moments, contrary to the wine the people still very much knew their courtesies as she passed by.

"Lord Stark." She reached the stage, moving slowly up the steps. "This is truly a beautiful gathering, on behalf of the crown I give you the best of wishes."

"Thank you, your grace." He smiled solemnly and Cat squeezed his hand, offering a warm look.

"You are welcome." Dany smiled again and made her way back around to her seat. She was right next to Jon, who Robb had insisted attended the feast as a proper guest besides his protests.

He'd been quiet the entire time, sat eerily drinking from his cup. Not offering a word to anyone. He slouched back slightly as Dany passed him, taking her seat beside his own.

"Lord Stark." A bard came forward, holding out his instrument. "I wish to play thee a song."

"You may." Ned leaned forward and the bard smiled, catching everyone's attention as he began to play.

"Jon." Dany whispered his name, looking slightly over her shoulder. He know wore black garments, which was always his colour. His look had attracted many gazes from the women in the hall that night, yet he still frowned nonetheless.

He finished the rest of his wine, putting the cup down and against the table. She called his name again, still a whisper but this time with a grunge, angry tone.

He quickly swiped out of his chair and disappeared behind the stage, leaving Dany shocked at how he could do it.

_But he's right to,_ Dany reminded herself of their argument that morning. Just as she was about to follow him, her name was called from bard. Turning she saw all the eyes stuck on her, and the bard sung her a song.

Further into the night, when the hall had emptied a little but the majority still remained, still laughing and cheering. Jon's seat was still empty, and Dany had to go and find him. She darted quickly from her seat whilst the rest were talking, which meant she could go without question. There was a narrow passageway behind the stage, and she followed it until she came across the kitchens.

The kitchens weren't something pleasant at this hour, although empty, a mess still remained from what had been cooked that evening. She traced through the tables stacked with pots and pans, and finally found Jon stood overlooking the rest of Winterfell from the ledge. His shoulders were slouched and his head hanging loose, perhaps this is the time when he'll listen.

"I'm sorry, Jon." She began to tread slowly towards him. "I can say that. But I won't leave you to be alone and, hate me. I don't want that."

Dany reached for his back, pressing her hand against it lightly. "Whatever you feel, I can understand." She spoke with assurance, though in her mind she could never understand. She thought that she knew Jon, but now she was realising she hardly knew anything.

Jon simply remained unmoving, stood still leaning over the ledge. Dany could only say so much to him, it was his choice whether he listened or not. Her hand fell from his back and went back to her side, she looked once more before turning, part of her hoping he might say or do something.

As she made her way back down the kitchen, each step an echoing reminder of the forlorn atmosphere around them. Dany suddenly felt a firm grip on her arm, and before she could react she was pulled back and turned, landing into Jon's chest. His arms wrapped around her back and she was still in wonder at what he was going to do. His eyes strolled around her, as if he was taking every feature that he hadn't seen before.

She moved even closer, so much so she could feel the hot air from his breathing and see herself in the reflection of his own grey eyes. Once again the world had ended beyond them both, everything forgotten.

His eyes narrowed as she gradually moved closer, like he was weighing the risk. She'd done it herself so many times before, hesitated, it was like staring in a mirror. But not on this night, not now, for once she would follow her heart. Their eyes closed when their lips met. For Daenerys, once she had  _it,_ it was all she wanted, and she brought her hands to his chest and felt his heart beating thunderously.

"Wait." Jon jerked back, bringing his gaze from her flushed face to his boots. His voice had gotten weak, breathy. He'd submitted to her, against his vows, honour, family.

"Jon..." Dany ran her thumb through his beard, still lost in the taste lingering on her lips. She felt something she hadn't in a long time, and she would heed it. " _This._  I think this is what I want." She was speaking though she couldn't really hear the words.

Jon slowly brought his head up and stared into her eyes, he'd made his decision then.

_Yes, this. This is what I want._

Dany stepped even closer, if it was possible.

"We can't.." Jon shook his head slightly, "Even if we wan-"

Dany leant forward again, silencing him with another kiss. He didn't move away, but he did not return it. Only leaning his head against hers and sealing his eyes. Dany stopped as his hands fell from her back and returned to his sides, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth and grasped it before stepping back.

She suddenly felt embarrassed, vulnerable. That even now he still stared back down at his feet. She felt the urge to cry, tears began to settle on her eyes.

Then he pounced forward even quicker than what she'd ever expect, like a wolf bounding for its prey. They stumbled until Dany's back smacked against the stone wall, with both hands tracing up her hips Jon had been the one to do it now.

Sweet, but short. By the time her hands trailed to back of his head, lost in the forest of black curls, an echo from the corridor reached the kitchen and Jon quickly leapt backwards. His face red and his breath quick and heavy, his eyes spinning with something that Dany couldn't fully determine, thought it was warmer than before.

The longing stare had caused Dany to lift her hand outwards, as the cold air clung to it Jon could see the hair rise on her skin. He gripped her hand firmly with his own, warming it. He didn't smile, frown or even change his expression in any other way. And that only made her breath hitch even more.

A smile lit up her lips, it stretched beyond her will. She quickly turned for the door as the sounds grew louder, and as she left she could feel the slight strength that he'd put into his hold. Dany was smiling even when leaving, the thoughts of how dangerous the thing that they'd done, started, hadn't even reached her yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins!  
> Before I get a message saying that "Well, Rhaegar and Lyanna was the cause of thousands of deaths..." I know, but that was Jon's POV. He didn't want to think that, so that was not written.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Start the official POV's this chapter, as I planned for chapter 6+. This goes a lot more into detail about the history and their story, I've decided instead of releasing a timeline I'm just going to gradually describe it through the story.
> 
> I know it's still quite unclear on where this is going, but that's what I wanted to achieve. This story is going to be HUGE.

** Chapter Six **

* * *

 

**_ JON _ **

It was always the morning shine that had awoken him, when the sun dared to peak over the arches of his chamber balcony and plant itself across his face. He would raise naturally from the sheets and drift over to the terrace floor, aweing at the sight that blessed him every morning. The trails of sunlight would start at the Gate of the Gods and then flood through the streets, shining through every alley and passage way. Then the main road, bounding a strict path forward until his eyes the met the ray that woke him. He would lean over and gaze at the blazing red turrets of the keep, the reflecting flares that lit up the whole city.

But that wasn’t anything compared to Winterfell, when he woke in his childhood bedchambers, feeling the familiar warm-cold feeling latch onto his skin. Gazing out at the grey walls and the courtyards, though anyone would say they were hardly appealing compared to the capital, to Jon each mark had a meaning, a memory. Whether good or bad, it was always a firm reminder. 

He slowly turned back from the window, stepping further into his dimly-lit old room. The grey stone walls and floor reminded him of the kitchens - and the whole of the stubborn grey mass that was Winterfell - which then reminded of him of what he did a sennight ago.. Not like he forgot, no, he’d been thinking about it every night – even when sleeping. He didn’t need to tell himself so to know that it was wrong - his own mind was good enough at reminding him of that - and he didn’t need to repeat his thoughts to know that a part of him now wanted it badly, he never found the time to be alone with Dany or speak to her properly, and it only made the gaping feelings worse. It made him want her more than what he’d ever wanted anything, something that was forbidden and wrong. More than when he craved to join the Night’s Watch, more than when he aspired to become the first knight under the training of Barristan the Bold.

_Why can’t I forget it? Put it away?_

There was no denying that when he was requested to King’s Landing on orders of newly crowned King Robb, he was half-scared at what was to come. He rode for a full day and night before the first stop, thinking of what he would say when he first saw his brother again.

Upon arrival he was presented the offer, to be freed from his vows and be legitimised as a true Stark. Initially he thought _no,_ he belonged at the Wall. And though a legitimisation would make him Stark, he was raised a Snow.

“ _No?”_ The half-man had come to see him that night in the capital, offering some of his Lannister wisdom. An instant _yes_ was expected by everyone, and when Jon had asked for some time to think the whole of the courts expression turned to shock.  

“I took vows, swore my honour, my life.” Jon was sat on the far side of the bed in his guest bedchamber, one of the largest chambers that Robb had arranged he was shown to. 

“The Lord Commander told me, about you, rushing off when your father called the banners. You abandoned your vows then, to fight against the crown and be branded a deserter. _You_ didn’t care then. Now you have your chance to leave that frozen hell at the end of the world, to become a Stark.”

“I’ll be named an oathbreaker.” Jon said slowly and looked over his shoulder, sighing.

“None of us are perfect. I may be a dwarf, an imp…. but still I am a Lannister of Casterly Rock.” Those words from Tyrion Lannister had burnt themselves into his mind, like his others had. Jon would often employ them whenever he was doubting himself.

Jon slumped down onto the small wooden chair that he had behind his desk, it croaked and groaned every time he moved like it was suddenly going to break. Stacks of parchments were piled across his desk, notes and scrolls and books that he’d gathered from the libraries. All of which were details on his father and his mother, the events of Roberts Rebellion that ended in the death of them both. He looked over to the dying light in the hearth and the black stone that led up to it, as far as he could remember the stone would always be covered by his white companion, Ghost. He missed the little runt – though he wasn’t very little anymore – especially when he was alone, he could bury his face and hands into the warm fur and talk to him like the wolf could understand. Ghost was in King’s Landing now though, he didn’t know why he left him, he just did – and he regretted it now.

He wore only his breeches, with his chest exposed the sliver edges of his scars seemed to stand out to him in the growing light of the morning. He traced his fingers the down the longest one, it was sharp and run from his left shoulder to his right hip. Some of it had cleared, leaving small spots of unmarked skin along the trail, though quick enough it would continue again in the same sharp fashion.

He had took the scar from the swipe of a greatsword, it pierced through his armour and struck through his skin. He’d nearly lost the duel after that, along with the other six of his order. Though there was a quick comeback when Rhaegal had appeared, gnawing and scorching through a dozen men. They had quickly rose and struck back, and on that day _Longclaw_ had brought down a Mountain.

It was a slow morning, slower than usual. Later on Jon had been lucky enough to find the bathing chamber was empty, and he settled into one of the square tubs. Insisting to a guard outside that he wasn’t disturbed. He lowered himself into it, sighing in relief as the scorching warmth rushed through his body. He knew that once he got out he would have to spend the rest of the day grafting through the aftermath of the nights snowfall. Nothing in life is better than this, solace in the boiling water.

It must’ve been hot, the steam rose in waves above it. Hotter than what he would have at King’s Landing, though it didn’t hurt the slightest; it only drew him in.

He dipped his head under, only for a few mere seconds in order to get his hair wet. The walls and roof of the room swirled from under the blanket of water, the light hues seemed to shine and the darks seemed to blacken even more.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d bathed, though he could sworn it was a while. He stuck his morning leathers back to his body, dried his hair as much as he could and went for the door. The guard he’d spoken to was no longer stood outside, most likely he’d gone as soon as Jon had entered. He wiped a few falling droplets from his forehead, they were still warm even now.

“Morning..” A calm voice met his ears, far too familiar it seemed to make his heart beat faster.

Turning, the morning light peeking through a window struck his eyes far too quickly, it blinded him for a moment. Though in that, he saw a silver and tad of violet. He could smell flowers, a familiar scent, _her_ smell.

By the time his vision returned, she was stood close. He could feel her warmth pressing against the trailing drops of water on his skin. Her eyes and smile greeted him, she pressed her hands softly onto his chest.

He had so much that he wanted to say, words that he had thought of and revised. But here and now, he couldn’t bring himself to say those words, he could only watch her move. Ethereal. Smooth. Perfect.

Though Jon still swallowed uneasily, mayhaps Dany thought of him as some seducer, though he was not. On the night of the feast, his courage to kiss her was initiated mostly by the wine. He could only hope she couldn’t feel his heart beating thunderously.

Over the past week they’d exchanged quick glances, managed to talk for short times. But never alone.

They came closer, and Jon’s mind began to shout.

_Oathbreaker!_

_Betrayer!_

_…  Honour!_

“No..” He turned his head to the side as she leant forward, her hands fell from his chest slowly. “What am I doing..” Jon stumbled back, he found his legs were weak and he stumbled before finding them. The shouts in his head throbbing.

“What? Jon, what’s wrong?” Dany’s hands were hold out loosely were he once was, she stared at him deeply and concerned.

“It’s wrong, Daenerys.” He stumbled back even more, his eyes were still stuck to the floor. His own voice seemed unfamiliar when he spoke. “You’re making a mistake. A huge mistake.” 

All the things he’d thought over the last sennight seemed to hide in the back of his mind, he couldn’t even look at her now.

_Oathbreaker!_

He left that instant, stormed away before his guilt consumed him.

* * *

 

**_ DAENERYS _ **

Her water was cold now, she’d taken her bath later in the morning in her own chamber. Everything was cold, Jon was like fire. Dragonfire. But he’d left in anger.

 _Again,_ she thought. _This, again. What can I say? What does he think?_

She trailed her arm through the bitter water, it was a pool of mess that was drowning her. Filled with the anger and sadness that she felt. What can I say to him? She thought back to the beginning, when he first walked into the throne room at King’s Landing. Half-soaked in rain and hungry, tired. It was long ago but felt so familiar, all this time she’d thought she knew Jon better. That he was more than just a guard, and that she trusted him and he trusted her.

But, the more Dany thought about it she realised that’s what she’d been telling herself, but it wasn’t entirely true. She’d never sat down and had long talks and laughed like she had her other friends and companions, never truly asked him about his life or told him of mine. And suddenly now he was so much more.

He needed to know, know now how she truly felt. Perhaps at first she’d kissed him out of lust, in the godswood, surely Jon was handsome. But not for a single moment after the night of the feast had he left her thoughts, he had her heart and he didn’t even know it yet. And she realised until he did, Jon would never settle with her.

 _Settle?_ A voice echoed in her head. _You could never settle._

Hours passed, and Jon had disappeared somewhere in Winterfell like he had been doing lately. She checked his bedchamber, seeing his armour and sword still left untouched, mounts of books and old parchments stacked on his desk. The fire had died and she knew he hadn’t been there. She then checked the godswood, searching through the mass of sentinels with gaping limbs stretching above her head. But he wasn’t there either. Dany thought for a moment that he could’ve gone on a hunt, perhaps with Robb? Though his horse still remained in the stables, and Robb was still in Winterfell.

Robb, her husband. He was like his brother in many ways, but not nearly as brooding. When her advisors first suggested the Stark to marry, she didn’t think too much of it. She didn’t care much for marriage at that point, she wasn’t a piece anymore like her brother had made her. But, nonetheless marriage was surest way of securing fealty and the North was capable of summoning a hefty rebellion after they lead the overthrowing of King Joffrey.

He was kind and gentle like the rest of his family… and just as Northern as the rest of them. She’d admired him, he was not evil nor ignorant. They’d married in King’s Landing, and things seemed in order for the future. Heirs would be bred for the Iron Throne, solidifying Dany’s position and reforming a line. She thought she might one day grow to love him, as she had _Khal Drogo._

Though as the years went by, Robb – away from the North and his family, everyone but Jon – grew more distant and sour, and no children were growing in her womb. She’d heard the whispers, people talking. That the Queen was barren and could never have children, and as her hope died she began to believe them herself. They’d tried, it was duty, but still to no avail.

“Your grace.” Dany had decided to visit Lady Catelyn’s chambers, hoping that it could possibly soothe her the slightest.

“My lady.” Dany smiled, she was very fond of her. A true mother figure, to all her children – but Jon she’d heard hadn’t received the same treatment.

“Please, come on inside.” Catelyn smiled back and gestured her in, stepping inside it was like being in King’s Landing all over again. The Lady’s chambers were hot unlike any other place in Winterfell that she’d been in, and quickly Dany removed the small cloak from her shoulders.

“Has Arya or Sansa seen you?” Catelyn sat her down at the table, Dany could see that she was sewing a small tapestry. Grey cloth with white threads and as Catelyn sat she took hold of it again.

“No, they can be anywhere in this castle.” Dany swiped her fingers across the oak top of the table, looking around her chambers. “Arya? Is she well?”

“She’s herself,” Catelyn laughed, “the defiant wolf that she is. I’m thankful to Jon and Robb for what they did.”

“ _Arya_ was strong.” Dany moved her gaze to look at her. “She was fighting all the way through it, she’s unlike any other Lady I’ve ever met.”

“Yes, she takes after her brothers.” Catelyn thread the needle back through the tapestry. “She’ll want to return to King’s Landing with you.”

 _Yes, she will._ Dany thought, _I would very much like her to._ But she could see the cold restrain that came about Catelyn when she mentioned it. A certain stoniness to the idea.

“Sansa will be accompanying me, will she not?” Dany felt a slight regret of mentioning what Eddard had told her, as the shift in Catelyn’s features did not go unnoticed.

“Yes, she will.” Catelyn sighed, Dany knew that when Joffrey was crowned Sansa had become a prisoner in the capital, beaten and tormented. So much so it caused her father to call the banners and reveal the knowledge of the King’s true parentage, or at least Stannis Baratheon had. Which only made it worse for her. "Watch her, make sure she's safe. Please." 

“Of course. Arya is free to come as well, but… I will leave that decision to you.” Dany tapped her fingers awkwardly as the silence ensued, _it was certainly a no._

“Bran has been talking about it a lot lately, about going to the capital.” Catelyn spoke but did not look at her, and the words certainly brought a shock to Dany. Bran was the quietest and most reserved one out of them all, she hadn’t spent so much time with him. “He wishes to squire for Jon, and eventually be granted knighthood.”

She wasn’t sure how Jon would react to that, or even if he knew. “Does Jon know?”

“Not yet.” Catelyn threaded the needle again, and Dany watched like a princess gaping at a knight.

“My Lady.” A steward had entered, a young boy with thick black hair and padded leathers. “Your grace.” He caught eye of the Queen and his tone dropped.

“Lord Eddard is riding out… they’ve caught a deserter from the Night’s Watch.” The boy spoke nervously, Dany heard the sigh and looked over to see Catelyn’s frame becoming smaller.

“Where is he?” She spoke in a sad tone. “Who’s with him?”

“In the courtyard, my Lady. With His Grace, Ser Rodrik, Ser Jon and Bran. Along with a few other guards.”

Dany did not hear the rest of his words, when he’d mentioned Jon she had trailed off into her thoughts. After she’d looked for him all that day and now he’d finally showed.

“Bran?” Catelyn shifted and did not have resist to show her shock, Bran was old enough now Dany knew, though it could never be easy to have one of your youngest see the Queen’s Justice.

“Yes, my Lady. Lord Stark had th-” The young servant had stopped talking when Catelyn bounded for the door, Dany following closely behind.

They were all mounted, Eddard at the front, Robb and then Ser Rodrik, trailing close behind was Jon in his armour with Bran at his side, behind them were the guards wielding the Stark banner. They all had an expression of contempt sat morbidly on their faces, perhaps from the coming execution though _Jon is probably still angry with me_ Dany was convinced.

“Fetch me a horse.” Dany turned to Hullen, he stared at her, shocked for a moment but nodded quickly enough and then rushed to the stables. She’d expected some resistance to the idea.

“Your grace, best to not bother yourself with matters such as this.” Eddard spoke calmly from atop his grey stallion, which snarled and groaned as it dug its hooves into the mud.

“I will ride with you.” She replied in a rather stern tone, Dany was hardly focusing and was not in the mood for arguments, her eyes were still lingering over Jon.

Hullen was quick enough, bringing out a brown trimmed horse. She climbed onto the saddle quickly, not wanting to hold the party up any longer. Catelyn was further in front speaking to Eddard, though Dany could hardly hear over the mutters and quips of the guards. She crossed glances with Jon a few times though in reaction he only looked away and pulled on the reins.

They began a quick trot through Winterfell, and for a moment Dany was lost as she mesmerised all the sights around her. They passed the smithy, a white-bearded gruff man smashing down on a blade. They then came to pass the guards hall and from there Dany could see the towering first keep and the ruined remnant of the Broken Tower. She noticed how Jon’s gaze seemed to linger on the entrance to the crypts, all way until he had to peer over his shoulder. Their eyes met again and he quickly shot them away, _if I man could ever kill another with his eyes, it would be that look._

Dany urged forward as they jolted through the gates, the air was thicker and colder outside the walls. She pulled up alongside Robb, greeting him in conversation from behind.

Jon trailed even slower behind now, watching her every movement.

* * *

 

**_ JON _ **

_That should be me._

They had reached the trunk and the men had brought forward the _brother._ To Jon’s surprise he didn’t seem to resist it much, only stick his face to floor and murmur under his breath. _Perhaps he was a madman,_ Jon thought. _Though it should be me, I abandoned my vows, yet here I am still living and breathing._

He’d never fully agreed with himself with ending his vows for another, turning his cloak from black to white. It had always irritated him whenever he was down and upset, he would think that riding to Wall would clear him of all his problems. Like he had done when he was in the crypts all that day, sat under the statue of his mother. _Things were so much simpler there,_ he would tell himself, even though he knew they weren’t.

He’d scold himself for thinking that.

Eddard unsheathed _Ice,_ it sprang into the light with a sharp hiss, and surely shattering the Night’s Watchman’s ears as it echoed what was coming for him. Jon looked around the green hills, a thick mist in the cold air sat around them. He then looked to Dany who was further up, she watched Eddard closely, a fire in her eyes. He trailed his eyes down her body, down to the lustrous curves of her hips until he threw them away.

“Jon..” A reserved voice struck his ears, breaking him out of his stare. “Shouldn’t Ro-”

“Sshh, quiet.” Jon looked over his shoulder, seeing Bran somewhat shocked by his quick interruption. “Remember, don’t look away.”

He turned back to Eddard, where he began to speak with his greatsword grasped tightly under his hands.

“In the name of Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die.”

He almost stepped back for a moment, before he lifted the _Valyrian_ steel blade high and brought it down, and in one single swipe, the man’s life had ended. Blood had pounced outwards onto the snow, bursting like dragonfire. Eddard stared at it for a moment as he passed _Ice_ back to Ser Rodrik Cassel, where he then came walking towards Bran.

“You did well.” Jon gripped Bran’s shoulder and squeezed it tight, as Eddard approached he began to trail back down the hill with the rest of the company.

“He looked more like a wildling than he did a _sworn_ brother.” Robb pulled up beside him, his body wrapped in a huge black cloak. He looked more like a watchman himself, though his Tully colouring never went well with it.

“They often do these days.” They trotted at a slow pace, overlooking the hills and trees beyond them. “The Night’s Watch is…. not what it used to be.”

Robb stared forward, still. “He said he saw the things beyond the Wall, the _Others.._ ”

“What? Did he?” Jon turned to look at him, he’d only heard mumbles from where had been stood. “What about them? Are they nearing the Wall?”

“He was mad, Jon.” Robb almost laughed out, clearly shocked by Jon’s sudden exasperation. “A madman sees what he sees.”

“He wasn’t.” Jon tapped his horse into a faster movement, “They’re out there, I’ve seen them myself…. But, he was still as deserter.” _As am I._

He left Robb with that, he was in no mood to debate about it. Not when he couldn’t even look at Robb for longer than a few moments, feeling sadness and regret all in one. 

He saw Dany ahead, riding silently. He hesitated to move up beside her, but, she was the Queen. He needed to talk to her.

“The wildlings…” Jon caught her attention, she turned her head quickly to look at him and a small flash crossed her eyes, though she soon enough stared forwards. “We need to discuss matters with them, about the Wall.”

“Jon. I’ve… do we really need to talk about the wildlings?” Dany asked him and Jon felt like sighing, he’d hoped that she wouldn’t bring itup. That she’d recognise he was just as hurt and she would spare him of it.

“Yes,” Jon was whispering, he looked over his shoulders a few times to make sure nobody could hear them. “We need t-”

“I know why you were angry. Why you left me.” Dany seemed to look sad now, she seemed uncaring of who could hear and her words sparked regret in him. He felt the slight urge to take her into his arms and comfort her, but he knew he wouldn’t; he only stared at the bright red hues shining on her cheeks from the cold.

“I wasn’t angry.”

“You were. And I know you think that I’m making a mistake…. Perhaps I..”

“Stop..”

“No. I know how you feel, Jon. It is wrong, it’s against everything you know. But-”

“Dany..”

“Stop.” He came to a near halt, his tone packed with authority. The words brought a shocked silence to her, and even to him. The expression on her face showed as if she was going to cry.   _I want to, gods I do._ “You don’t…” _know why,_ Jon continued in his head, though the words refused to leave his mouth. “But, you need to forget about it. Please, for the safety of both of us.”

The rest of the ride back to Winterfell was a slow one, the cold becoming even more freezing and the air even more thick. He thought he could even hear sobbing behind him, but as he turned to check he only saw Dany staring vividly into the sky, like she was searching for Drogon. He hated to have to speak like that to her, to watch his words crush her.

 _But it’s the right thing isn’t it?_ Jon couldn’t stand to argue with himself at this moment.

As they came hustling back into the courtyard of Winterfell, the people passing by not giving them much notice after seeing them leave, they were met by Catelyn, Arya and Rickon all stood like statues with guards at their backs, like they were ready for a battle.

“I wanted to come… why didn’t you call for me?” Arya walked slowly towards Jon as he brought his horse to a stop.

“It’s not a nice thing, Arya.” Jon began to lower himself down, sighing at the disappointment clear on her face. He tried to wipe it off by messing her hair, though it was different to what he remembered: hardly any of it even moved from the ruffle of his hand.

“Do you want to practice? We can visit the yards if you want?” Jon stared down to meet her eyes, he caught the vague sight of Dany walking past then, the cold redness of her cheeks coming clear again as she faced him a for single moment.

“Jon?” Arya tugged at his shoulder “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” He looked back to her and smiled, he wasn’t sure whether she answered him or not.

“Come on then. We can only practice for a small while, I’m to go to mother later.” She pulled on his arm and they began to trail along the courtyard. Jon caught short site of Eddard and Catelyn talking, clearly a disagreement on something.

“I’ve been working on my balance, but I don’t have a lot of time to do it.” They reached the practice yard, where a few of the younger additions of Winterfell guards stood sparring. Their faces took the look of confusion when they saw the Lady Arya bounding through, _Needle_ in her hand. Though their looks soon came to end when Ser Rodrik Cassel called for them.

Arya whipped off her cloak and let it drift slowly to the mud, she wore a dark grey leather jacket and breeches, with black boots high. Jon was still shocked to see her like that, for a moment it was what he imagined his mother looked like. _What she had looked like, in the crypts._ He would have to ask Ned more about her, when he eventually gathered the courage to do so.

“Needle…” Jon spoke as he watched her flutter it through the air. “You’re going to need a bigger sword…. now that you’re bigger.”

“What about yours?” Arya grinned and placed _Needle_ down against the bench, she tapped over to him and wrapped her hand aground the grip of _Longclaw_ where it rested on his belt.

“I’d say this is a sword fit for myself.” She swiped it out slowly, the few glistening rays that could breach the trees and walls hit the blade as it left the scabbard. Jon wanted to grab it off of her, Valyrian steel was no toy, it cut was like nothing else.

“Give me that!” Jon lunged for her, narrowly escaping the edge. She swung it around obliviously until Jon caught hold of her hand, a look of terror shot against his face.

“Sorry..” Arya whispered, sounding embarrassed and ashamed as Jon took hold of the sword.

“It’s alright...” Jon returned it to the scabbard naturally, swiping it without hesitation.

“You just, always have it in that. I’ve only seen you use it once, what’s the use of having such a good sword if you hardly use it?”

“I use _Longclaw_ when I must, Lady.” Jon mussed her hair.

Arya was better than what Jon thought she’d be. She was a natural in a way, just like Jon had been told he was. They practiced for hours, swinging and striking with blunted edges. Jon had been gentle with her for the most part, mainly blocking and countering. Though Arya had wits when fighting and she quickly realised what he was doing, so she swung more often and strong in order to leave Jon no choice.

Now though, both panting and wiping away at the sweat, a handmaiden of Catelyn’s had come along for Arya. And so she left with a sigh, swiping _Needle_ back under her belt and disappearing with a smile.

It was what she needed, and probably me as well Jon thought.

He fastened _Longclaw_ back around his belt, re-attached his white cloak and set off from the yards. His legs and arms were aching, and he yearned for a rest. The sun was high in the sky, breaking through the grey sheets of clouds. The courtyard was far from what it had been when he set off for the training yards, it was nearly empty and those who populated it were only builders and guards and the odd steward. He decided there was nothing best to do but go to his chambers and finish reading through the parchments and scripts he’d stacked there, it would most likely lead him to the night where he could finally get his rest.

He would be leaving in a fortnight, along with Robb and the whole of the company from King’s Landing – and Dany, the Queen. And Sansa. Back to the capital, back to squabbling pit of eyes and those who would do anything to be rid of you. _It’s a damned place,_ Jon thought…. Though it wasn’t, ever since Daenerys had arrived it seemed to be cleared of its infamous treachery. _A dragon scares away the rats._ Back to the Lannister, who would jape him and make remarks. Back to the spider, back to the heat.

He grew to like it when he was there, though back in Winterfell, wrapped in the cold he never wanted to feel the heat again.

 _Back to my friends,_ Jon almost forgot to tell himself. In Winterfell he had only family, perhaps they were not his half-siblings but they were his true relatives, by blood. In King’s Landing he had friends though, he’d seldom have time to be with Robb, always busy with crown affairs. Barristan was his true friend, he always felt comfort when with him. Jon trusted him just as much as he did Robb.

Returning to King’s Landing only reminded him of how he’ll always be with Dany. His oath was for life. It meant he’d be by her side until she was old and grey, and if it wasn’t the old age that took her, he would’ve died too, defending her.

As he opened his chamber doors slowly, he was greeted by Bran who sat in the chair behind the desk. The fire was lit in the hearth and Bran was looking over the stacks on his table.

“Bran? When did you get here?” Jon closed the door behind him.

“I’m sorry for coming in but, I didn’t know where you were.” Bran stood from the seat and began to walk slowly around the table, like something was on his mind.

“It’s alright.” Jon took _Longclaw_ from his belt and chucked it onto the featherbed, Bran continued pacing.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you, Jon.” Bran now came to a stop and stared into Jon’s eyes, though as he met back they fell to the stone floor yet again.

“What is it?” Jon unclasped the holds at his cloak slowly, feeling a satisfaction as it loosened from his shoulders.

“I wanted to ask you, ask _of_ you… If I could, well, you’re a knight Jon and I’ve always wanted to be a knight.”

“Yes. Well, you could ask Robb? He”

“-No, I would prefer to have some experience first….. as a squire, your squire?”

Jon thought about his words, staring still at him for a moment. Bran wasn’t sure how to react in his gaze, whether he should be still or continue moving.

“Bran…” Jon spoke slowly, his cloak still hanging from one his right shoulder. “You’d have to leave Winterfell, mother and..”

“-I know.” Bran jolted forward, like he was ready to plead whilst he had Jon’s interest. “I know that, I will. I’ll come to the capital, go wherever you go. I’ll clean your armour! Your sword! Tend to your horse and.. we can, train if you want? When you have the free time.”

For a moment Jon could see the young Bran again, before he’d left for the Wall. He was ill when he left, sleeping most of the time. _Away_ when he left and he was away now, in a form. Bran had relished solitude as he grew, now a boy of fifteen it surprised Jon he would ask him of this.

“Bran.. I would, I would make you my squire.” Jon said and saw the lift in his features, but it was suppressed when Jon spoke again. “But first, you must ask your father. I will not take you if he doesn’t want me to.”

“I’ll ask him!” Bran walked quickly towards the door, a smile stuck on his face. Though before he opened it he turned back to Jon. “Our father…”

 “What?” Jon turned to face him, wrapping his cloak around his arms.

“You said _your_ father, he’s yours too.” Bran told him innocently.

Jon smiled “Yes. I know….. now, go on.”

* * *

 

**_ EDDARD _ **

“They’re here m’lord.” Bryce informed through his helm, one hand wrapped around his sword.

“Bring them in.” Ned sat at the long oak table in his chambers, with one hand against his lap and the other clenched into a fist. Another five guards surrounded him, along with Ser Rodrik Cassel, all armed and ready for what was coming. The door croaked loudly and the footsteps followed, heavy thuds from their clothing and rattles from their chains.

They were forced to sit and be quiet, the three guards that escorted them blocked Ned’s view.

“Is Jon here?” Ned looked up to Rodrik and whispered.

“I’ve sent for him, should be here soon enough.” Rodrik returned and scratched his whiskers, one hand wrapped around the grip of his sword. Though there was no real concern of danger, the twowildlings were chained and surrounded, however they weren’t the familiar breed. A lot of damage can be done in the absence of hands, Ned thought.

The guards moved aside and revealed the two red-haired brutes, even the woman. The giant of man stretched his hands as far apart as they could go, like he was silently trying to break off the chains. His eyes, dark and looming and full of bloodlust stared back into him.

“The Queen..” Ned began, shifting in his chair. “Has insisted that I deal with the matter of your fate, which is a relief considering you attacked her.”

“Ha!” The man spat, and the woman smirked. “She can’t handle us so she makes you do it?” She spoke, her tone rough and ever northern.

“Her Grace is busy, if it was resting on her your heads would be decorating spikes in the capital very soon.”

It was something Ned wasn’t fond of, though Daenerys was a Queen who showed little mercy to her enemies. He knew that, and so did the rest of the seven kingdoms.

“Her Grace…” The man mocked and snorted. “Would she throw you in a cell if ya’ called her something el-”

He was interrupted by the scream of the door, Jon walked into the room. His face grew shocked and weary when he saw the amount of guards stood around, and the two of _them._

“Ar’, is my white knight ‘ere to save me?” The woman pranced her head about sarcastically, by the look on Jon’s face it mustn’t had been the first time she’d done it.  

“Quiet.” Bryce prodded the back of her head with his forearm, silencing her japing. Jon walked past the table and took a seat beside Ned, his black leathers crunching as he sat. He shook his head before speaking, “Tormund…. Ygritte..”

They only continued to stare. “You climbed the Wall for safety? How many others came with you?”

“What does it matter?” Tormund leant forward, “it’s just us two here now.”

“Answer the question.” Ned put in, his hand clenching into a fist once more.

“Fifteen of us started the climb….. eight of us made it.” Ygritte spoke slowly, her tongue rolled around her mouth.

“Why now? Why not sooner or later?” Ned leant forward onto the table, his hands coming together.

“You here in tha’ south concern ya’selves with the useless… You care too much ‘bout your animal signs and your coins and your fathers father. You’ve forgotten what _shud’_ be cared about. What shud’ be feared.”

“Why?” Ned stared still into his eyes. “What should we care about?”

“The true enemy.” He replied, resting back into his chair as he shuddered from the words.

“The ones whose skins are as pale as ice and eyes shine like blue moons.” Ygritte recited, the chains around her wrists rattling as she lifted her arms. “Aye, the _true_ enemy.”

“The Others are gone, they have been for thousands of years.” Ned shook his head, though the deep look of concern Jon gave him did not go unnoticed.

“ _You_ haven’t seen them for thousands of years. Just ‘cos you haven’t seen it, don’t mean it isn’t out there.” The man looked to Jon and stuck his eyes on him. “They attack our settlements, whole villages found empty and the dead are nowhere to be seen.”

“And what are you doing about the _true enemy._ Running. Not fighting, what does your _King beyond the Wall_ do?” Ned said and looked between them both, the thick wraps of furs that made them like two bears.

“Mance… forget him. We’re hiding behind your Wall, just like you…. an’ the more of us that are left out there, the more of _them_ when they come.”

Ned looked to Jon, who only sighed and bowed his head down.

 “Kill us, don’t kill us. It don’t make a difference, it’s a mercy to die ‘ere than beyond the Wall. I won’t come back….. but, if you’re going to then strike hard and true, or else I’ll come back an’ haunt ya’ and this castle.” 

“M’lord,” A guard’s voice erupted from the door. “Maester Luwin is here. Should I-”

“Let him in.” Eddard insisted, _perhaps his wisdom would be useful in this time._

The door cried again and the rattles came again, the rattles of his chain. He came to a stop when he noticed the two prisoners, though Ned waved him forward.

“A raven arrived, my lord.” The maester whispered into Ned’s ear and pulled a parchment from his sleeve. “From Castle Black.”

“Give it to me.” Ned took hold of it and broke the seal, the maester’s chains rattled again as he leant up. _Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than what was happening here._

He was wrong.

The more and more he read the words the more his jaw fell, the eyes of those around him grew with curiosity.

“My Lord…” Maester Luwin began, “is it concerning news?”

Ned placed the scroll onto the table, all the eyes following the movement and then gaping back up at him. Even the two prisoners were captured, leaning forward with a small smirk reaching the corners of their mouths.

“It’s from the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch..” Ned ran his hands down his lap.

“Mormont?” Jon asked him quick enough, his eyes spelling confusion. “What does it say?”

“It says…. that he was attacked by one of his men in the night. That…” Ned couldn’t finish his sentence, he looked to Jon though he could still feel all the eyes plastered on him.

“Mutiny?” Bryce, the Captain of the Guard quickly exasperated.

“He… He says that Benjen has been lost ranging north of the Wall.”

_Not my brother, not out there. Let the Lord Commanders words be folly, let him be alive. The Others take his words._

“Uncle..” Jon fell back into his chair, his eyes shot dark. “And what of the mutiny?”

The words almost escaped his mouth before he clasped his lips shut, his eyes caught attention of the two prisoners who were grinning at the rests discomfort. It was perfect timing for them, for such a letter to arrive after they had pleaded, it was too much to show such weakness in their company.

“Please escort the two prisoners back to their cells. We shall continue this on the morrow.”

With that Bryce took hold of them and they were taken out with another four guards, it may have been a relief for the two, to return to their cells with their heads still firmly attached.

Ned shifted in his chair, looked at the letter again and then at Jon. “It mentions of a rider, who should be here on the morn. To present us with something.”

“-But the mutiny, is he alright?” Jon was desperate for an answer, as was everyone else around the room.

“The Lord Commander says he was attacked, by a dead man… that he had to burn him in order for it to stop.” Ned looked all around the room, to watch the reaction clear on everyone’s faces.

Though Jon’s face fell and his eyes sealed shut for a moment, like he already knew somehow this was going to happen. Perhaps he did know more, he alone had more knowledge of the Wall than the rest of them.

Ser Rodrik scratched at his whiskers, deep in thought. “The rider, what is he bringing? Why here?”

“Evidence, it says. He asks for our help, the kingdoms help.” Ned wiped his hands through his thick hair, sighing once more at the message.

“What help? Food? Coin? Men?” Maester Luwin’s chain rattled, though he kept his hands calmly together at his front.

“It doesn’t say.” Ned watched as Jon stood from his chair and walked to the front of the table, where the prisoners had been sat.

“The wildlings, Tormund and Ygritte. We should spare them, they can help us.” Jon said and tapped his fingers against the table

“That’s not your decision.” Rodrik spoke from behind Ned, keeping his stoic tone.

Hours passed, by the time Eddard was alone in his solar the day had slipped behind the castle walls and the night towered over Winterfell. Everything seemed darker, smelled sour, his food tasted dry and he didn’t appreciate company at this time. Perhaps the prisoners were right, the Lord Commander was speaking truth and his brother was lost.

He, Jon, Ser Rodrik Cassel and Maester Luwin had spent hours discussing; by the end it was clear of all their views.

Ser Rodrik had little belief for matter of the situation, he refused to believe the prisoners’ words were the truth and that the letter from the Lord Commander held some extreme exaggeration. No matter how much Jon shot back in return to his comments, he always shook his head and scratched at his white whiskers. “Their as stubborn as an ox, and wilding to the bone.” He’d said. Jon though was adamant on explaining just how right the two prisoners were, how the Lord Commander Mormont would not lie and that the Night’s Watch numbers under a thousand men, not all of them fighters. Though it was ultimately the Queen’s decision, or Robb’s. Finally, it came to Maester Luwin – whom Ned hoped would offer some sound wisdom to the situation – however he only remained reserved for most of the discussion, his hands wrapped in his sleeves. He insisted they waited for the rider, to gain better knowledge of the situation.

The matter was far too shrouded for Ned’s liking, how serious could he regard it? How would the Queen? The King? His brother was missing, that was what troubled him the most.

A knock rung from the door just as Ned decided it was time to retire, the sound was a relief – breaking him from his thoughts.

“Father.” Bran called out from behind, his voice was a soft release.

“Come in.” Ned called out, sat near the hearth staring into the fire. He wasn’t too fond of the heat, or fire though it was always the cracks that helped him think.

The door groaned opened and then shut, Bran’s soft footsteps found their way to his side until they stopped too.

“I meant to come earlier, but Arya told me that you were busy.” Bran pressed his hands onto the armrest, over his fathers.

“Yes.” Ned nodded slowly. “What is it you want?”

“I spoke to Jon earlier…. I asked him if I could, squire for him.” Bran didn’t meet Ned’s gaze when he turned to him, he only looked to the fire still. Cat had mentioned it briefly he remembered, though he didn’t take too much notice at the time.

“Bran, Jon will be leaving Winterfell in a fortnight. If you are his squire you might have to accompany him.”

“-I know.” Bran quickly replied. “I’ve spoken to Jon, he would take me with him. I’ll be alright. He’s my brother. He’ll train me, father.”

 _Brother._ Ned had never thought twice when one of his children had called Jon brother, not before. But now it rung his head like a bell, how long he’d held the secret alone.

“I won’t keep you from doing what you want do. You’re old enough now…. if this is what you truly want?” They looked at each other now and Bran quickly nodded, a smile breaching his lips.

“What about Summer? Will you be taking him?” Ned smiled back, a warmth flooded his chest.

“Yes. Well, if Jon lets me. He’s been gone for a few days, hunting with Shaggydog.” Bran sat himself in the chair beside Eddard, his thick auburn hair had only grew thicker as he grew, his deep blue eyes shining in the firelight.

“How do you know he’s hunting?” Ned rested back for the first time that day, finally forgetting the thoughts that loomed over him.

“I just know. Jon has Ghost in King’s Landing anyway, he’ll be happy to have them together. I bet he’s lonely.”

 _Ghost,_ gods it was a lifetime since Ned saw him last.  

* * *

 

**_ DAENERYS _ **

“It was certainly a good feast, your grace.” Cira finally sat down at the large circle table, it was positioned in the dead centre of the room.

They’d talked all the way into the night, so much so it seemed to have slipped past them in an instant. It helped Dany forget what he’d said to her, his words rang so much meaning. _Why couldn’t she forget? Ignore it?_

“Not like the ones in King’s Landing…. do you miss home, your grace?” Cira had always been fond of gatherings, feasts and parties.

“I do.” Dany replied quickly, because she did. She missed Rhaegal, Viserion and Drogon. She even missed Tyrion and her other advisers. She missed the Iron Throne, she’d sometimes sit upon all day just to reminisce in what she’d achieved. She missed the Jon she knew then, she wanted him back but more. More than what he’d been then but different to what he was now.

“Perhaps if you decided to go on a trip again you could visit Highgarden, it’s far warmer than here. Beautiful, you’d love it.” Cira nodded slowly and smiled, she must’ve spent a lot of her life there. She often spoke so highly about it.

“I don’t think I’ll have time, its back to ruling once I return.” Dany had one hand fisted against her cheek and the other patting uselessly against the table.

“You’re the Queen. You can do what _you_ want, have what you want, go wherever you decide.” Cira slowly started to laugh, her arms raising higher and higher as she spoke.

“Even if it could… lead the kingdoms into disarray? Send the lords complaining? Cause riots?” Dany still leant on her arm, a small smile of amusement on her face after Cira had spoken. Clearly going on a mere trip couldn’t cause all that, but Dany was thinking more of something else.

“Why not?” Cira replied. “You didn’t fight for your throne for it to be the thing that holds you down. It’s yours, it will always be yours from now on. Do what you like.”

Dany knew full well that her words were only for comfort, hardly true. But, what was holding her back now? Back from what she wanted?

“What if I wanted something that everybody else thought terribly of? Something that I shouldn’t want? And I hid it from everyone else?” Dany perched her head up from her hand and peered forward, half of her dreading what she might say in reply.

Cira moved closer to, a smirk reaching her lips. “What people don’t know, can’t ever hurt them.”

Daenerys had sat back in thought at that, all the way through the rest of her handmaidens talking. As she clicked the door shut when Cira left, she finally came to a decision. One of her Queensguard started quickly marching behind her as she bounded from the chambers, Dany had then demanded that he remained at the door.

Winterfell was always a solace at this hour, though Dany’s mind was not. It was bubbling yet again, stomping in time with her feet as she raced to Jon’s chambers. She wasn’t going to stop this time, go back in a lesser mood than what she already was.

“Who’s – oh.”

She stumbled. Dany had reached his chambers far much faster than what she thought she would’ve, he sat there behind his desk to the right of the door. Stacks of parchments along it, yellow and old.

“Jon..” Her voice was dry and she quickly swallowed to clear it, moving slowly to the front of his desk. He shifted back in his chair, his look an anxious one.

Dany was about to start talking, when she realised she shouldn’t plead like she had done. She had to be wholly truthful, that was the only way he would see. Actions will speak louder than her words.

He began a protest as she moved around his desk, removing the space between them. He couldn’t finish whatever word he was going to utter it seemed, he ended it before it started. She thanked whatever reached his mind before he spoke, and whatever kept him from asking her to leave.

He wore his jet black leather garments, and his hair seemed to vanish as they came into contact. It was too dark to see them different, the fire was lit dimly in the corner of the room. Though that didn’t stop the glistening on his eyes, the small flickers on his scar.

She knelt slightly, so they were eye level. The only sound in her ears was the cracking of the distant fire and their slow breathing. She could feel the warmth of his body as she pressed her hand to his leg and one to his chest, the smell in the room so fresh it refreshed her.

“Have you thought about this…. Honestly?” His voice was slow and husky, deep and warming. She lowered her head slightly, but she didn’t have to think of an answer.

“Yes.” The word left her mouth without effort. “Have you?”

“Yes.” He replied, she was closer now. She wasn’t sure whether she had moved or he had.

“Then what’s stopping it?” Her words were almost a whisper.

His eyes followed her movements as she moved nearer, her breath caught in her throat. “Everything." A voice whispered in her head, just before their lips met.

He embraced her and it was all forgotten, no more anger, sadness, falsity.

No more looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I listened to Arctic Monkeys "Do I Wanna Know" when writing this, it's quite reflective of the emotions that the two are experiencing. In a way.
> 
> Please leave a review and check out my Tumblr page for previews, information and news.
> 
> http://theyoungwolfxii.tumblr.com/


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

**_ EDDARD _ **

Eddard Stark scarcely had the time to break his fast when he was informed of the rider from the Night’s Watch, the one that had been addressed in the letter. He’d strapped on his fur lined grey cloak and made to greet him. It was dim and cold morning, the wind whistled through the castle, even in the archways you could hear it, feel it pressed against your back. Every man and women he saw that morning all looked as equally mild.

The rider was tall and gaunt, sat upon a thin black colt. A mass of thick black hair bobbed up and down on his head as he rode, the frayed edges broke away to reveal a pale scarred face, sulking black eyes deep in their sockets. Anybody could see he was a black brother, the darkened leathers hung loosely to his skin, all kept together by leather straps that held up a cloak.

Part of Ned wished that was Benjen riding up Winterfell, where he would rush to bless him. But Benjen was not here…. Benjen was lost.

“M’lord.” The aged man spoke dryly from atop his horse as Ned came into the courtyard, _a dark rider, dark words…._ Ned thought.

“Jorvan be my name, m’lord. I haven’t stopped to get here since I left Castle Black.” He dropped with a sigh, squelching his boots into the wet mud of the courtyard.

“I will always welcome men of the Night’s Watch into my hold, ready a room and prepare a meal for the man.” Ned said and turned to a steward, who quickly nodded and shot off into the keep.

“Thank you m’lord.” Jorvan smiled but the tired look remained, he reached for a satchel slung over his colt. Years and years of his tough life had certainly left its mark, Ned imagined the very skin on his face was probably as hard as leather. He smelt sour and bland, his teeth blackened and his lips cracked.

“The letter, said you carried… evidence?” Ned watched him, Bryce and Ser Rodrik Cassel stood at his sides. Best to tend to this matter immediately, there is no use in prolonging it.

“Aye..” He tossed the satchel over his shoulder and stepped a slight closer, his face growing weary and anxious. “A place more private m’lord, away from the eyes.”

There are no _eyes_ in my courtyard, Ned felt like telling him. Jorvan had almost hissed the word through a whisper. So early in the morning, only guards filled his courtyard. Sentries upon the walls, shadowed through the early lights breaching the ramparts. Though few of the Royal Party were scattered amongst those that he recognised “Yes.” Ned almost whispered back.

Jorvan followed him silently, sending a certain eeriness into the atmosphere, making Ned fear even more what the evidence may be. His chambers were dead that morning, grey and foggy and empty. Their footsteps shot hollow echoes and their breaths turned to mist before them. A sharp tinge of cold shot up Eddard’s spine, like a reminder of what he was about to see. Perhaps the Old Gods feared as much.

“Light the braziers..” Ned looked to Bryce before he sat at the long table. “And send for Robb… Or the Queen.” Though he was handed the situation, he would need one of them here. “And the Maester.”

Rodrik sat and Jorvan quickly followed, placing the satchel onto the table. It met with a sharp clank and the leather fell to reveal a tall shape inside. A jar perhaps, the evidence.

“The Lord Commander left note in the letter of the attack m’lord.” Jorvan brushed the thick strands of hair from his eyes.

“He did.” Ned kept a firm tone, sitting upright besides Ser Rodrik. “He said you would hold proof of the matter.”

“Indeed.” He shuddered and swallowed. “I come in hope to… give proof of our state, to gain your help. The realms.. The Night’s Watch grows fewer by the day, and the nights grow even longer.” He paused and squeezed his gloved hands together, pale white spots filled the palms where it had worn away.

“We run low on men m’lord, on proper steel and horses. We’re finding more and more wildling villages left abandoned, and yet we’re losing rangers by the fortnight.” Jorvan clasped his eyes shut. “Benjen, his blood ran black, he was as much as my brother as he was yours. He’s…”

Ned could see the sadness on his face, he seemed to be on the edge of weeping. Why hadn’t I felt worse to hear of my brothers fate?

“Do you think he’s alive?” Ser Rodrik Cassel peered forward, just as Bryce shut the chamber door. It was something that Ned didn’t want to hear, but he understood that they must weigh up the possibility.

Jorvan stared forward into nothing. “There’s not a man on the Wall who knows the Haunted Forest better than Benjen Stark… Aye, I have hope.” His words didn’t convince Ned, he could sense the fear too strong in them, a doubt.

“The last thing that your brother said to me before he left… Was that we’ve forgotten the true enemy. The snows are rising.” He looked to Ned. “Winter is coming.” He recited cryptically with a small smile.

“He said he would not sit meekly by and wait for the snows, he was going to find out what was happening. What was out _there_.” Jorvan blinked the coldness from his eyes, he reached for the satchel and pulled it across to his lap. Dug his hand in and pulled out a jar.

Ned didn’t need any more evidence, any more _convincing._ He was hardly focusing on what Jorvan was doing now, he could see his brother at the Wall, speaking those words to the gaunt man before him. His last words it seemed. He saw Benjen alive in the woods, sat beside a small stream of melted snow. Cupping his hands to sip from it. Then he saw a dead man approach, and that is when he stopped seeing.

When Ned came out of his pale reverie, Maester Luwin and Robb had entered the room; and Rodrik peered so close to the jar that he nearly pressed himself against it. Inside a severed hand rested, blue and pale with patches of grey. Its fingers twitched and pointed, like it could see him.

It was alive.

“The hand of the dead man that attacked Mormont, the only part we didn’t burn.” Jorvan looked among them, faces which were all plastered with shock. “We lost another three men to the other one, and we had to burn them n’all.”

“This is….. It’s…” Maester Luwin’s chains rattled, an ominous clatter that blocked the small sounds the fingers left when tapping on the jar. His dug is hands through his sleeves, like he was possibly trying to find something that may offer an explanation to it.

“What could possibly…” Robb sighed and stroked his chin. “One of these things took my uncle?” Ned had informed Robb only a little on the matter, he told him that Benjen had gone missing, though perhaps Jon had told him more.

Jorvan shifted uncomfortably. “Your uncle is one of the best rangers I know… No, your grace. I don’t think this is what keeps him, I think it’s something a lot worse.”

What of the hope?

Ned could have told him. He knew, he felt as if they all knew, yet no one seemed to say the words. All his life the Others were only a story, something he was told by Old Nan when even he was a mere boy. Though more and more he began to doubt. Even thinking of it made him feel foolish; he was Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, and yet….. and yet..

Robb eyes widened as he leant back up, he looked to Jorvan, then to Ned, and Jorvan again.

“We’re asking for more support, your grace. In these dark times, the winds are rising and we might not make it through the winter.”

Robb was shaking his head fiercely, whether it was at the brother’s words or something else Ned couldn’t tell.

"I cannot send an army to the Wall, as it seems you're hardly fit to house them, feed them.......... I can send you more men, food and steel. But what good would that for my uncle? He needs to be found. I can accompany you to Castle Black. To see these quarrels for myself, to see what I need to do.” 

Robb turned to Ned, his features seemed weak and smaller, but there was a strength there. “We can.. for Benjen.”

Ned wasn’t sure whether it was a command or a request – he nodded.

**_ JON _ **

“There’s game there. So that’s why.” Bran sniffed and wiped his red-tipped nose. He wore boiled leather over mail and a heavy brown cloak above that, it seemed like too much for a ride, but Jon didn’t voice his thoughts. The two of them and Bryce were mounted at the Hunters Gate, preparing to scope a section of the Wolfswood in order to find Summer and Shaggydog. Summer would be going with them to King’s Landing, Shaggydog would stay with Rickon. But most likely they were out together, best for them to return together. 

The morning sun was faded behind a thick blanket of clouds, shining a grey jiggered light onto Winterfell. Jon was thankful that Dany was yet to wake, so he could accompany Bran out into the Wolfswood. He remembered past times, where he and Robb and Bran had gone out to the wood to fish, along with Jory, the old head of the guard. He left his armour exactly where it was that morning, still and gold in his chambers. He decided to dress as thick and as warm as he could, padded leathers over a thick black cloak. He was thankful for his hair on his head and his beard, if it was another thing to keep him warm from the breeze.

“Usually it doesn’t take so long, _they_ find us.” Bran said. “But, it can sometimes take a full morning for them to show.”

“Well, let’s hope that they are nearby.” Jon looked to Bryce mounted in the middle, he had slung a longbow over his chest in hope to make a hunt. Jon didn’t blame him, if the direwolves were to show so early on it would’ve been a near pointless ride.

“Does Ghost ever stay out long?” The rusted portcullis groaned as it began to rise from the ground, revealing the endless mounts of land ahead. Fog sat above the tops of the pines, like a sheet of white silk not daring to enter. It stretched outwards to edge of the horizon and further in the distance birds fluttered at the morning light.

“Sometimes..” Jon shrugged his shoulders and wiped the cold from his forehead. “But he always comes back, eventually.”

Oppose to the familiar cold, Ghost was well-suited in King’s Landing. He would follow Jon around wherever he would go, the direwolf was his guard. Dany had even once said that they were eight in the order instead of seven, and Ghost had proven it many times over whenever they encountered trouble. His growls and blood-red eyes had probably avoided more fights than what he’d started, people would rather surrender than have their throats torn. Grey Wind would hunt with Ghost in the Kingswood, occasionally Jon and Robb would accompany them when they could.

A loud knock hit their ears, like a hammer honing a blade.  The portcullis had stopped above them and a guard urged them forward. It was even colder when he trotted past the boundaries of the gate, somehow. Jon pulled his cloak further around him.

“Come on then.” Bryce tapped his steed into a faster movement. “We haven’t got all morning.”

Though all the morning it seemed to take, hours spent scanning under the endless green canopy to no avail. As they rode into the green abyss that was the Wolfswood, they decided it best that Bryce went one way and them another, to cover more ground. It seemed as if they were travelling in one big circle, all the wood was flat land and green towering pines. Though soon enough they met a ridge, where a stream of crystalline water pierced through the soil. Bran thought that they might find the two direwolves there if they waited, yet time still passed behind this field of trees, they couldn’t spend all day in the wood. It was however a good point for them to meet, Jon stood himself atop the hill and shouted for the master-at-arms, his voice echoing like the caw of bird. Then Bryce had come.  

“Do you think we should start back?” Jon looked over to Bryce, who had returned with a deer slung over the back of his horse. Jon was beginning to feel a burn in his thighs, no doubt from the saddle.

“Why? It’s the lad’s decision.” Bryce seemed undecided at that point, though his eyes spoke otherwise, he wanted to get back to Winterfell, Jon knew.

Jon looked to Bran, who was further up the ridge on foot. He held onto the reins of his horse, keeping it close. Even from so far down, Jon could see the spot of disappointment on his face.

“I’m your squire.” Bran’s voice was faint from the distance, the howling of the wind was louder, the rustle of the leaves loud and surrounding them. “I go where you go.”

 _Straight back to Winterfell,_ Jon thought, though the words did not yet leave his mouth. Bryce was hardly focusing on him, chipping away at the skin of a rabbit that he’d caught. Bran was facing the other way now, atop the ridge, looking desperately for a sign of Summer or Shaggydog. Jon didn’t want to leave without finding them, if it brought Bran comfort.

The wind hissed again, though this time it seemed to rattle Jon’s horse. Sending a shrill shudder through the frame of it. It shook right and then left, a deep snarl scratching from its throat. Jon patted his hands along the steed’s long neck, desperately trying to calm it.

“What’s wrong with her?” Bryce looked up and down him, unsure to whether he should help or not.

The horse dug its back two legs into the dirt and reared the front two upwards, snarling again and again. Jon held the reins tight, though he felt himself slipping.

It wasn’t the impact that hurt him, it was echoing laughter that rattled his ears. Even Bran, further away his laughing boomed through the wind and rustling of the leaves. The horse shot off, quickly becoming lost in the endless labyrinth of trunks and bushes and mounds. He could smell the crushed and matted grass beneath him, a stench so thick.

Jon closed his eyes for a moment, knowing that when he moved he would have to carry his whole cloak behind him. A sharp pain finally rattled in his back, the pinch from a stone that he had fell on. The wind was calm now, a whistle that soothed him. And with his eyes closed, the world still for a moment - he could only see Daenerys.

Then a growl sounded. And Jon immediately shot open his eyes.

Two swirling orbs just as golden as the sun, with black narrow slits looked back at him. Like two golden stars surrounded by a silver field, Jon blinked endlessly, wondering if the sight was real.

“Summer!” Bran’s voice sounded, the quick patting of his footsteps and the shaking of his mail followed. The sounds grew only louder but Summer disdained, still staring into Jon’s eyes.

“Come on.” Bryce wrapped a hand around Jon’s arm, bringing him back to his feet.

The direwolves were now the size of a horse, they were only pups when Jon saw them last. He thought of Ghost again. If Ghost were here he would’ve found his brothers straight away, perhaps spared him of his fall. Bran approached Summer slowly, the direwolf was heaving, like he’d ran a great distance. Shaggydog – a name that still sounded ridiculous for the animal – watched closely from behind, scanning with his deep emerald eyes.  

“Eh, perhaps you can ride one of them back?” Bryce tapped Jon on the shoulder, they laughed for a mere moment before Summer came looming towards them, a growl sounding from his throat. Jon wasn’t scared of him, he was all too familiar with the company of a direwolf. But there was a mystery to this one. His golden-yellow eyes giving nothing away. He held more strength than what even he knew, Jon could sense that.

“To Winterfell.” Bran patted his nuzzle, the silver fur slightly reddened from a kill.

And in a heartbeat they were gone, bounding through the tree’s like his horse had. Jon looked around the ridge, stacked pines and mounds of mud and dirt. A good few hours from Winterfell.

“How’d you know they’d go back to Winterfell? What if they go hunting again?” Bryce spoke from atop his mount.

Bran pulled his own horse close. “I’ve told them to go Winterfell, so that’s where they’ll go.”

“It’ll be a long walk back.” Bryce tossed Jon the dead limp rabbit and a dirk. “Some food in case you get lost.” He hid his smirk well.

“It looks like we’re all walking.” Jon gave him back the rabbit, but kept the dirk. Swiping it quickly under his belt alongside _Longclaw._ “My squires’ place is at my side, and you belong with my squire.” He moved passed them, stepping over brown logs and twigs. Bryce shook his head and chuckled slightly. And for a moment, Jon felt as if he was as sharp-tongued as Tyrion Lannister himself.

Though it did him little help. His words couldn’t shorten the distance between them and Winterfell, it could only make it seem longer if anything. They remained silent for a good hour, the only sounds being the cracking of twigs and snow and other things in the Wolfswood. The leaves gaping above them shook rather softly, the two horses that remained snarled every now and then.

They came into a dome of trees, however this time fingers of light seemed to force their way through the leaves. The heat felt just as pleasant as it looked as Jon stepped into it, Bryce and Bran mounted behind. It was something that might not be seldom seen now that summer was gradually ending.

“Bran.” Jon called out as they all walked slowly through the lighted dome of trees.

“Jon.” Bran replied from behind, curiosity clear in his voice.

“Do you still train? With a sword or lance? Bow?”

“Sometimes…” Bran replied in a rather shy tone. “But when father left all that time ago, I didn’t spend much of my own in the yards. I haven’t since practiced all that much.”

“When we get back to capital, we’ll practice twice a day.” Jon lunged over a huge log, stepping over and out of the warmth. “If you want to be knighted one day, you’ll have to have to be the best you can be.”

“Thinking about it.” Bryce suddenly spoke, after not speaking a word the entire journey. “Why don’t you just get on Bran’s horse? There’s room enough for you both to squeeze on.”

The rest of the ride back seemed to take minutes.

**_ ARYA _ **

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Arya looked back up to the flag once more, fluttering in the wind, clapping. The direwolf of House Stark howling fiercely into her ears…. it’s annoying me fiercely, Arya told herself. She sat up from the ramparts, pulling her feet back over from the edge. It was a narrow path, one single misstep and she would she could fall either way. Live or die.

But Arya was steady, carefully placing her feet in between the gaps of each raising arch. Clap. Clap. CLAP. The cloth was almost in her face, shaking and clapping. She brought her hand to her belt, scraping the fingers across her _Needle._ The post was thin, she saw. Easy to cut. With the wind in her ears and the sun hidden from her eyes she struck.

And the claps came to an end.

She watched as it fell, the direwolf of her House sprawled and mutilated as the flag dropped through the winds. Arya had almost forgotten where she was standing, on the edge of Winterfell’s grey granite walls. She sat herself down again as the flag flattened amongst the grass, the direwolf looking back up at her.

 _It’s not fair._ She told herself again and shook her head. The plans had been made around her, for her. Like she didn’t even exist. Daenerys would be leaving for the capital in two more days, Robb was set for the Wall – and Father! The Wall? Arya had asked herself over and over, hoping that the more she said it some reason would finally spring to mind. And Jon, even him, he was going back to King’s Landing with Bran and Sansa and Summer.

Ever since that Jorvan turned up a fortnight ago, Arya didn’t like him, in fact she hated him. Everyone had changed. Eddard Stark only had ears for plans, suggestions and the words of his advisors. Robb, he was even worse than Father. Even when she’d confronted Jon in the yard one night, asking him what the trouble was. He only grinned and told her not to worry, offering smiles that Arya knew he feigned. He was upset earlier that week, probably because he couldn’t go with Robb and Father. Arya had only Sansa, her sister seemed to be as just in the dark as she was – but soon she was leaving with everyone else. She wished Nymeria was here, so she could run endlessly and always have company.

She’s out there somewhere. Arya looked on to the setting sun, flaming orange-red hues bursting into the sky as the base slipped behind the trees on the horizon. One night, when she felt so alone. She’d vowed that before she died she would see Nymeria again, run her hands through the bristles on her coat.

A clang of steel on steel met her ears from afar, she quickly turned her head. The yards weren’t so much further away from her, if she scaled the battlements she could reach them easily. That’s where it was coming from, again it sounded and she jumped from the ramparts and onto the walkway. Bounding like a wolf on its prey. There were no guards where she was, but near the yards there certainly would be.

But, that didn’t change anything. She was Arya Stark, Daughter of Winterfell. She could go where she liked.

As the yard came into view from beneath her, she saw her brother Jon in his armour. Swinging against some other man who wore steal plate over a grey surcoat, a half-helm over his head. She saw a look on Jon’s face, a look that she recognised. He had him. Half of her wanted to shout his name, but yet she refrained. Out of stubbornness because of his attitude or because he was fighting she couldn’t tell. Both.

Arya sat on the very of edge of the inner wall, her legs dangling over the yard below. Just as she expected, the foe swung his sword too hard and narrow. Jon parried it steadily to the right, scraping the edge of his blade along his. With his arm bent, elbow out and the opponent still and gaping. Jon brought his elbow across and collided with his face, the small satisfying crunch of bone met her ears. A sound of victory.

“Here.” Bran came running from around the barracks, cloth in hand. He threw it to Jon and he caught it, wiping the sweat from his face whilst the other man did what he could to stop the blood oozing through his fingers.

“You swing too hard and heavy.” Jon told him, just like Arya had thought. She regarded his armour, it was something that she had never seen before, perhaps once when she was little, and only now had she properly looked at it. The engraved crown on the breastplate, the sigil of the White Swords. If she could think of anyone more worthy to wear that sigil it was Jon.

She caught Bran staring at it too, knowing that one day he hoped to take their oath. I could take their oath too, Arya told herself. Admittedly she knew little of what they did other than guard the monarchs, perhaps that was _all_ they did. But they could hold no lands and take no wife, which was something that Arya never wanted to do; marry. She’d heard of, Brienne of Hearth? The only women warrior that was on their order. Why can’t I squire for her? I’m a better fighter than Bran already, I’m older than Bran. She’d teach me. She would understand.

Arya couldn’t deny she felt an ounce of regret in herself every time she sought to train in the yards with the soldiers, ignore her courtesies for the feel of a leather grip of a sword in her hand. She was a woman flowered. Every day reminded what was expected of her, and every day she defied their expectations. With everyone else leaving soon her mother and Rickon would be her only company. Perhaps she should forget it, move on. Arya closed her eyes, her hand was already naturally wrapped around her _Needle._

“Arya.” She opened her eyes and saw Jon looking up at her, the cloth still wrapped in his hands. She wasn’t sure how to reply, what to say. For a moment her mind was blank, then…

“Brienne of Hearth.” The words fell from her mouth, Jon’s head dropped and he began to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

He wiped the sweat from his head with the back of his hand and looked back up at her. “It’s, Brienne of Tarth. Her family holds the island of Tarth.”

“How did you not know that?” Bran shouted from across the training yard, laughing. With Jon’s trident ridged helm in hand. Bran had most certainly studied every single person that was in the Kingsguard… Or the Queensguard. Arya had found it confusing how their name differed depending who they were guarding. Bran knew each of their birthplaces, who were their families, how many tourneys they have won or what battles were they in.

“Well, sorry I didn’t know.” Arya shot back at them, keeping her front. But inside she felt embarrassed, her grip on _Needle_ tightened.

“What about her?” Jon walked back over to Bran.

“Do you know her?” Arya went to her feet slowly and made for the steps that lowered down to the yard.

“Of course I do. I see her every day in the capital.” Jon had a smile of amusement on his face, leant back up against the table where the rest of his armament lied.

“Is she a good fighter?” Arya spun her thumb and the tip of _Needle’s_ pommel, in her mind she saw a women in the same golden armour. Cutting easily through other fighters that challenged her.

“She is.” Jon nodded and scratched his neck with his gloved hand.

Arya took a step closer, a smirk reaching her lips. “Is she better than you?”

Jon lifted his head, looking up and down her. “No.” He shook his head and chuckled. He wasn’t in the same dull attitude anymore, thankfully.

“I’d love to meet her one day.” Arya stood close now, she could smell the scent of steel that lingered in the air.

“She’d like you.” Jon crossed his arms and stared at her. “You’re quite similar.”

Arya was happy at hearing that, already – without even seeing her for a single moment- she was looking forward for a day that they might meet. She felt like Sansa, who would yearn to meet gallant knights and princes, she would sing songs and write poetry of a fair maiden and a knight who fell in love. At least, she used to. That was before, before Joffrey. When Arya had fled King’s Landing after Joffrey ascended, she’d caught up with the Brotherhood Without Banners. That was before she was returned to Winterfell. She felt jealous of the life that her brother had, fighting alongside some of the best warriors in the seven kingdoms.

“I’ll see you later, little sister.” Jon smiled and mussed her hair before leaving the training yard, Bran following close behind like Jon’s own shadow. She looked to the dirt, where trails of blood had fell and spread out against it. Blood from the _foe._

She knew in the back of her mind that soon she’d see the back of that white cloak, and it could be years before she saw it again. Before she saw Jon again. It could be years before she saw Robb again, or Father and Bran. And Sansa.

They’d all be different, with stories and tales of what they’d done. And she’d be the same, same old Arya, she thought. Soon enough one of Sansa’s friends would probably call her that, but Sansa didn’t speak to much of her old friends.

Soon enough…. Arya might have stories of her own.

**__ **

**_ DAENERYS _ **

“So that’s when Ghost came prodding along, making a rattle. They caught me then, hiding in the bushes.” Jon told her as they treaded slowly through the many paths and passages in the godswood. “I would’ve kept going, all the way to Winterfell. But they stopped me.”

“You missed your family, swearing a vow can’t stop us from feeling…. When I was in Essos, my own husband was the one who killed my brother. I missed him, well, not _him_ then. But I missed what I once knew of him. When he was kind.” They came to a stop, the torchlight flickering into Jon’s grey eyes.

“I know that you’ll miss Winterfell, and Robb.” Dany gestured around with her head, the sheet of canopies from the sentinels that filled the godswood above them. “You make me feel bad for making you come back with me.”

“Don’t.” Jon took hold of her cold hand and brought it to his lips, warming it. She smiled in content, every time they met in the godswood Dany never wanted to leave.  

“I’m your sworn shield.” Jon took hold of her other hand and brought it to his face, she could feel the tickle of his beard against her skin. “To protect you to the end of my days. My place is at your side.” He pressed a kiss to her hand, sending a flush of fire through her.

Dany was filled with regret when she first told him that he’d be going with her, in the godswood, where they always met when Winterfell had gone to sleep. She’d been on the verge of commanding him to go with them before he told her he didn’t mind, that he wanted to be with her. That all she ever needed to hear.

He’d spoke of his vows, yet no doubt he was breaking them. Now, with her. She didn’t say anything that might bother him, not now. Dany would rather relieve him of all vows than him leave her now.

“We’ll have to get back soon.” He let go of her hands, sighing.

“No.” Dany whispered and pressed her hands to his chest, the leathers cold against her palms. “Not yet.” 

They’d met in the same spot for past fortnight, and every time Jon had reminded her of how dangerous it could be, just for once she wanted to stay longer. Every night they’d kissed and touched, and every night she’d woken alone wanting him even more than what she could. Dany made sure that he was at her side all day, she only had to look at him, see his small smile when they met and her stomach would flutter. Dany truthfully sometimes felt like a maiden-girl, swooning at the sight of a knight.

“Drogon..” Dany began, running her hand down the leather jerkin on his chest. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

“Yes.” Jon nodded. “Wherever he is, he’ll come back.”

“He could’ve flown half the way around the world for all I know.”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t have.”

“I don’t want to return to have people asking why he burnt their villages, destroyed their farms. I can’t let him roam free.”

Jon brought up his hand to stroke it through long trail of her silver hair. “Before we came here, that’s all you wanted. For all three of them to be free.”

“A lot has changed since we left the capital.” Dany smirked, running her hand down even further.

He stared at her, still. A small smile began to perch his lips.

Dany lifted herself higher and sealed his mouth with hers, before he could speak again. She could taste the food and wine that he had, a spice on his tongue that made hers tingle. The weather and everything else may be cold against them, but the two of them together was anything but that. 

Dany never wanted to stop, to let him go so early on this night. She was pressed to him now, moaning lightly into his ear as his kisses found her jaw and then the sensitive skin on her neck. But he always stopped. Stopped her, himself. Perhaps it was his vows that stopped him to such an extent, Dany could respect that and hate it all the same.

He brought his hands up her hips, the kisses trailing on her neck sending small tingles down her spine. Why does he tempt me so? What does he truly want? She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him even closer. She never wanted him to stop, she wanted him only to carry on, perhaps he did too.

“You need to get back.” Dany felt the sudden loss of him, opening her eyes to see him staring at her with his bold grey eyes. She saw a desire in those eyes, a look of content. Though there was still a stern look about him as he scowled.

“Fine.” She kissed him once more before stepping back, lingering and taking in his scent. He took hold of the torch and led them out. Wrapping his cloak around her.

Her chambers were warm, her fire still burning and cackling. They always met deep into night, when Winterfell was at rest. She wouldn’t sleep until then. Daenerys couldn’t sleep until then. She always felt the worry that someone might have saw them the night before, they both did. He’d told her he didn’t care about that anymore, his vows. But she knew he still did.

Later that night she’d forced sleep upon herself, knowing that on the morrow she’d set out to the capital. Confined to the wheelhouse and the occasional inn that frequented along the Kingsroad. Dany knew that she wouldn’t be able to be alone with Jon at any time, not with all the eyes on her. Nothing can be more tiresome, she’d thought, travelling on the road was something she wasn’t highly fond of.

Dany dreamt a different dream, an odd dream that night. So clear and so simple, yet so odd. Snow piled at her feet, snow falling around her. Above. Through the mist she could see Winterfell, high on a hill. Snows settling upon its grey walls, smothering in mounds against the gates. Dany was half-questioning whether it was a dream or not, it wasn’t like the others.

It was dead in the night, yet the sky seemed white. Snow so thick it was blinding. She’d tried to move but realised she couldn’t, her feet were stuck to the ground. She could only watch, watch the snowfall. Nothing else happened, nothing else mattered.

Dany hadn’t burst up from the dream, thrashing and sweating. She’d awoken slowly on the morning light, greeted by her handmaiden with a breakfast of cooked bread and ham, with fruits and a goblet of refreshing water. She’d almost forgotten about it before she looked out and saw that thick snows had covered the ground and grey walls of Winterfell.

Why must it snow on this day? It would only make her return slower, having to graft through the kingsroad. If only Drogon was here, she’d take Jon and fly back to the capital. The rest of them can make their own way back… though that wasn’t what a Queen would do, and Drogon wasn’t here.

“We leave as early as possible.” Dany told Mortin, the head of her assembly. “We can’t risk any more snow. We need to get a days’ travel before we stop, to reach clear road.”

With that he’d nodded quickly and the collecting of her items had begun, she hadn’t brought a lot, it shouldn’t take too long. Half of her household was leaving with Robb, more than half of the guards. Ser Marc and Ser Boron were accompanying him to the Wall, as Kingsguard. Leaving Jon with another thirty in her escort.

She’d enjoyed her time at Winterfell, grown to feel comfortable within its walls. Despite the fact she had been injured and slept for weeks, it was a relax she needed. Safe from royal appointments and decrees, no doubt that Tyrion would have a duty of plentiful tasks lined up for her when she returned to King’s Landing. Dany was grateful that Tyrion could still operate without her, something that she would remember for the future.

Her items were being transported to the wheelhouse, a huge loud thing in black and red. Dany was taking gowns and dresses and shirts; ornaments that had been gifted to her, two boxes of blooming flowers that she’d picked from the glass gardens. Dany sought it fit that before they set out she should first speak to Sansa, to ask her how she felt. She may have been to King’s Landing when she was a girl, but now it may seem alien to her.

“Your Grace!” Sansa had blushed when she turned and saw Dany in the doorway of her chambers, which were all the way to the east of the Great Keep, perhaps she preferred the quiet solitude.

Ever remembering her courtesies, Sansa performed a perfect curtsy as the serving girls carried what was left from her room.

“Taking Winterfell with you?” Dany looked among the clothing stacks and the books, scattering across her bed. Gown after gown, piles like rainbows of silk.

“No, just what I’d need. Is it, too much to take? I ca-”

“No, no. Don’t worry, we have lots of space.” Dany words brought a smile to Sansa’s face, she wore a jet-black gown, tight with embroidered streaks of grey. Her hair, combed until it streamed an auburn fountain down her back.

Sansa could sing, dance, write and was an expert in embroidery. A lot of things Dany was not, yet she knew that Sansa could be a good friend. Dany would enjoy her company in King’s Landing, to talk to. Cira was good company, but she was sometimes too much to handle, too fast and always working.

Though Dany would not force her to the capital if all her days were to be consumed with dread and sorrow. “Remember, Sansa. It is your own choice, you can still refuse and stay here.” Dany took her hands into her own, they were soft and smooth and pale.

“Thank you. I was worried at first..” Her bright blue eyes gloomed as they fell to the floor, her hands seemed to slack and loosen. “Joffrey was…” She stared past Dany, thinking.

“I know what he was.” Dany told her. “I’ve heard.” She didn’t want to speak of the stories that she’d been told, not to bring up the memories in Sansa yet again. “Joffrey isn’t there anymore, nor Cersei Lannister or any other person that would mean you harm. You’re the King’s own sister, you’ll be given any chamber you like, you can have all the handmaidens or you can have none.. And I’ll see you as much as I can.” Sansa’s lips began to form a smile. “And Jon, your own brother. He’ll be there, and your other brother Bran too.”

Saying it now, Dany only just came to realise how many of them there would be.

“I can’t wait.”

“Your Grace.” A voice spoke solemnly from behind, Jon’s voice she recognised. Turning she saw him stood straight in the doorway, his helm in hand and his white cloak hanging behind him. His mane of curls that somehow always seemed to perfectly styled despite the fact he paid little attention to them.

“Is it time?” Dany asked, he nodded.

Dany looked over her shoulder to Sansa, who then stood up and began to follow her down through the archways of the Great Keep. Jon was walking in front, high and stout it made him seem as if he was marching. He was a head taller than her anyway and in the armour it only made him seem bigger, she watched his each step before they reached the courtyard.

The courtyard was packed, the trails of horses that would be leaving with Robb started from the centre and stretched all the way out through the inner gate. A circle of soldiers surrounded the wheelhouse, two men holding the House Targaryen banner high in the air, the three-headed dragon roaring its fire. The rest of Dany’s escort were all mounted behind the two wagons, each one of them waiting. Jon approached the wheelhouse and opened the door, waving her forward.

Dany stopped just before the steps. “Are we to go now?”

Jon shook his head, his mane of black curls shaking in the wind. “Not yet if it please your grace. The king must go first if we are to make our way.”

“Speak to him. And be weary of the road, ser. Keep an eye out for any trouble.” Dany suggested and nodded before she entered the tent, having Jon address her with such formalities seemed to be so ridiculous, but the courtyard was filled, they couldn’t risk anybody noticing anything.

**_ EDDARD _ **

The courtyard had never felt so packed, every way he turned someone was standing, carrying a box or commanding someone else to take hold of one. Even now in his chambers, with the door shut he could still hear the flood of voices and calls.

He would be leaving within in a few moments, set to look over his shoulder at Winterfell once more, to leave the arms of his wife, the warmth of his chambers, the familiar smell of home. Catelyn was in his chambers now, sat across from him. Silent and brooding, she held no favour for what they were going to do.

“Send one of your men!” She’d bellowed when he’d told her, both he and Robb couldn’t find a way to calm her down. The Wall wasn’t famous for beauty only its hardship, they all knew exactly what this meant. “Months...” Ned had told her, “even weeks, Cat. We don’t know how long we’ll be there, it might all be folly, and I could be back before the next moon.” Though Ned knew that the concern was a real one, a deep one. That hand, in the jar, still moving and as black as the night. What else could that be? He didn’t want to believe it or even think it. He pitied his brother, wherever he may be beyond the Wall, the Old Gods save him from what lies there. 

He could send another man, to seek what he did. Though if that man came back with tales of the dead, Ned would still doubt them. He had to see with his own eyes, believe it himself.

Twice he’d left her for war, and twice she understood. Once he’d left her for duty, and once she had understood. What was he leaving her for now? The love of his brother? Whose fate was still uncertain? Or the curiosity to find what he did so dread?

To find a sickening truth, Ned thought. The Others were once a tale and now a nightmare, and he was only stepping closer into that nightmare. Sharpening the blade for his own execution.

“Cat.” He looked over the table to where she sat, her head down and eyes closed. “I don’t want to leave here with you like this.”

“Then-” She began but stopped the words in her throat, her breath hitching. Catelyn then shook her head, like she had been doing for hours.

“You understand why I must go.” Ned stood and walked over to her, placing his hands upon her shoulders. Tears were brimming on the edges of her eyes, and through the door he could still hear the voices of those in the courtyard.

“I have a duty to Robb, and my brother. I can’t let Robb go alone, he needs someone he can trust.” Ned said, “I have a duty to our son. Family. Duty. Honour. They’re your words, Cat. And winter is coming, we must protect one another.

“And who are you both protecting by going to the Wall?”

 _Nobody, Ned_ thought, but what we learn may be the thing that saves us from Winter.

Those were the last words he that she had said to him, before he’d left to join the pit of smothering crowds in the yards. Robb had set his company to the very front, they had no use for wheelhouses, only a couple of wagons which contained all the food, wheat and drink that they could manage. Jorvan had informed them of how scare resources ran at Castle Black, and so he was delighted at the sight of them. Robb was already mounted, wrapped in a grey cloak and a black jerkin beneath that, high riding boots and a jewelled sword at his belt. Beside him were two of the Kingsguard, ones who were nameless to Ned. He’d thought one Jon at first, but soon enough remembered he wasn’t riding with them.

“Jon?” Ned caught Robb’s attention, his small yet thick reddish beard and hair like a coat around his head. 

“Is he with the Queen?” Robb shook his head. “I haven’t seen him since we prepared.”

Ned had to speak to Jon before he left, though everyone was already ready for leaving – besides him. He’d said his own farewells to everyone but Jon, where was he?

There was a trail of riders behind his son as he made way back up the courtyard, men in steel plate and surcoats, and ones in helms and ones without. Those holding the Stark banner high into the wind. Others in boiled leather, with thick heavy cloaks wrapped around them. Each one of them with a mild front on their faces, perchance they were all dreading where the road would take them. And finally, at the back were the two that caught his eye.

The two prisoners, sat uneasily on their colts. Surrounded by a shield of guards and still padded in their bear-like furs, exchanging gruff japes and scowling at Winterfell around them. Jorvan had no acceptance of their company, though Robb had ordered it. If they could help, which it seemed they could, then the Wall was where they were going.

“Lord Stark.” Jon’s voice greeted his ears. Turning he saw him stood below the portcullis, clad in armour and what could only be a sword wrapped in cloth in his hands.

“Is that for me?” Ned turned and laughed, walking towards him.

Jon shook the covered sword in his hands. “No, I’m afraid not. But, you could use more swords.” Jon offered him the same down expression that Ned had seen too often when speaking of the Wall. When he first learnt of what they intended – to accompany Jorvan and seek the matters for themselves – Jon was determined that he should go with them, he knew more about the Wall than what they did, he’d be useful there. Jorvan favoured the decision also, though he didn’t resist to speak on the matter of Jon’s reputation in the Night’s Watch, now rather a distasteful one. Ned himself didn’t see issue, however upon the matter reaching the Queen, she reminded them sternly of how Jon was the Lord Commander of the Queensguard, and his place was at her side.

Ned didn’t go against her word. Neither did Robb, nor Jon it seemed.

“I’ll send a raven to the capital when I can.” Ned pressed a firm hand onto his shoulder. He’d wanted to speak comforting words, words that may offer wisdom.

But words are wind, Ned thought. Jon wasn’t coming with them, that was the bare truth. His words wouldn’t change that.

“I.. I hope you find Uncle Benjen, tell me when you do. I know he’s out there, tell Mormont to send rangers and..” His voice trailed off, like he wanted to say so much but had little time. Robb called again from further down the trail.

“We’ll find him.”

“And the Walkers..”

Jon brought his hand to Ned’s shoulder, staring still into his eyes. Ned could see a fear there, sadness, a hope.

“I trust you. You know that they aren’t just a tale. You need to look after Robb, he doesn’t..” Jon shook his head, “he doesn’t know exactly what he’s going to find there. But I do, and..”

“I will. Robb will only believe what he sees, that’s all a man can do. He wants to find Benjen, _he_ wants to. ” Ned said solemnly.

“Daenerys, she will offer her help. I know she will. If we need to fight, sh-”

“Jon.” Ned’s tone brought a stop to his words, his shifting grey eyes moved up to meet him. “There’s no war, no fighting. We’re going to speak with the Lord Commander, learn what we can. There’s no shame in fear, what matters now is how we face it. ”

Jon bowed his head slightly, the wrapped blade in blue cloth clenched tightly in his right hand. Robb called again, this time louder. The black and grey and browns coursers that tread down the hill began a small movement.

“Farewell, Stark.” Jon took hold of his arm. Offering a shake and a look of warmth that they seldom shared of late.

“And you.” Eddard replied and nodded, before turning back down the trail. And for once he took steps without the weight of regret, the regret in not telling Jon of the truth; and a regret of finally telling him, worried that it may have broken him. Let Lyanna see what her boy had become, a knight and Lord Commander of the White Swords – an honourable and a good man.

**_ JON _ **

Robb was at the front of the line, dressed hardly to the standards of what a king should be. He cared little for wearing his crown, Jon noticed, a crown wouldn’t do him any comfort at the Wall. Ser Boron and Ser Marc gave Jon a brisk nod as he approached, the line was moving steadily until Robb called a halt when he caught sight of him.

“I seem to remember something like this, though it was other way around.” Robb laughed from atop his horse, meeting Jon’s hand with a firm grip.

“Be careful.” Jon told him, one of his biggest worries was what might happen to Robb whilst he was there. Even with the Kingsguard. Ser Marc was a man of few words, tall and lean and not the best out of the seven. Ser Boron was the least favourable companion of the guard, short and broad chested and arrogant. Jon had even asked Robb to allow him to send for Brienne and Balon Swann to ride to the Wall in hope of protection, though Robb denied it. He needs the best protection he can get, but Robb doesn’t fear the Wall, he doesn’t know enough _._

Robb squeezed Jon’s wrist before he let go and brought it back to the reins. “Enjoy your gems and encrusted goblets, whilst I’m probably drinking from some melting snow that I managed to gather.”

“Hobb will keep you well supplied, I’m sure of it.” Jon smiled, he noticed the longsword that hung from Robb’s belt. A silver hilt that shone from the light, with a direwolf head for the pommel with two azure eyes, and two more for the cross-guard. _Keep that close,_ he thought.

“I’ll see you again.” Robb nodded down to him. “Keep an eye over the Queen for me, make sure… make sure she’s safe. And watch the council Jon, you can never know which one of those are on your side. I’ll send a raven when I can.”

With a final smile, Robb tapped his heels into his horse and began a quick trot down through Winterfell. Ser Marc and Ser Boron behind him, then Eddard Stark, then Bryce, a whole line of guards who looked as equally grim, and then at the back to wildlings who seemed to have an armed escort of their own.

Now Daenerys would be ready to begin her journey, but there was one last thing that Jon had to do.

He’d thought to visit her bedchambers first, but soon enough realised she probably wouldn’t be in it – she never was it seemed. He took a right instead of left, passing through the courtyard. It was significantly less frantic to what it had been, he had to be quick, Daenerys would not wait for so long.

He entered into the yards, the sound of steel slicing the air met his ears. Arya was dancing with her sword, swinging it smoothly yet sharp through nothing. She stopped when she heard him, pointing _Needle_ dead on at him between the eyes.

“Oh.” She brought down the blade, clearing her throat. “I thought you’d be going by now.”

“I am.” Jon brought up the present in his right hand, it was wrapped in a fine blue cloth, something that he quickly managed to gather from one of Dany’s collections on the wagons. She regarded it slowly, biting her lip in wonder of what it could be.

Instead of pulling at the cover, Jon simply took hold of the grip and swiped his hand upwards. Letting the cloth sprawl out and meet the dirt. The blade swiped through the air with a hiss, reflecting flares from the light. Arya took a slight step back, staring in wonderment.

“Is it… mine?” She could hardly get the words out.

“Yes.” Jon brought it down and held it at both ends, it was a lot bigger compared to _Needle,_ but so was she.It’s pommel was black with a thin leather grip, the blade itself curved and broadened towards the point, giving it a cutting edge.

“Is it, Valyrian steel? Like yours?” Arya asked him innocently.

“No.” Jon replied and bounced the blade in his hands. “But it’ll cut through most things, you have to be careful with this. Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.” Arya said almost naturally, Jon could see that she was desperate to get her hands on it. He held it out, hilt first and she slowly wrapped her hand around the grip.

“It’s lighter than I thought it would be.” She lifted her arm up and down, testing to see the weight. She swung it through the air, as clean as a knife through butter. Her eyes wide with excitement, she slowly lowered the blade to the stand and looked back up at Jon.

“Thank you.” Was all she said before she met him with a hug, squeezing as tight as she could. “I’ll miss you, I will.”

“I’ll miss you. You’ll be even bigger the next time I see you.” Jon stepped back, offering a bittersweet smile. Who knew how long it would be before he saw her again?

“I’ll practice every day, and I’ll watch over Rickon and mother.” Arya watched as he began to turn.

“Goodbye, little sister.” Jon nodded and turned, she wasn’t his sister – or even half-sister. But that’s what Jon would always call her.

Hullen held a horse ready by the reins when Jon reached the courtyard, it had a coat as black as the night, with long broad legs and wide hooves. It stomped and snarled and Jon approached it.

“This one’s for you.” Hullen handed him the reins, since his other horse ran in the Wolfswood, the scared thing hadn’t since come back to Winterfell.

Jon mounted, holding tight in the fear that he would be flung once more. Bran was beside him, with Summer at his front. Though the horse didn’t seem frightened or even bothered with him, he just waited for the signal.

The stomps begun, the wheelhouse croaked and axils of the wagons groaned from their heavy loads. Jon tapped his heels and began to follow. He took in everything around him, even the smallest details of the armoury and stables and the guest hall. Jon even scoped those in Winter town, looking amongst the gathering of people who nodded their heads as they passed. He took it all to remember, he never wanted to forget.

As the brooding structure of Winterfell was just a small shape in the distance, Jon remembered one thing. One thing that’d he’d forgotten, one thing that he was wanting to know since the very beginning of that morning.

_What name would Arya give her sword?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each POV will be a lot longer now that they're separating. But yes, I hope you liked the update. It was quite difficult to write I found, but I can't wait to get onto the next chapter :D  
> Jon and Dany will certainly have a lot more time together in King's Landing, but there are so many little birds there aren't they?
> 
> Please check out my tumblr for information on this fanfic - http://theyoungwolfxii.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks! Remember to leave a review!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to quickly say, I'm very sorry this was a long wait, but I just ZERO time to write, and then I was rather ill, but I've managed and it's here now! Thank you all for being so patient, and thank you to everyone who has left a nice comment below, they make my day. 
> 
> It's quite a long un. Enjoy.

Chapter Eight

**_ JON _ **

Jon could see the blazing red turrets in the distance, shaking through the stirring southern heat that seemed to cover everything. It had been a long journey – a tiring one. With the nearing sounds of men bawling in taverns, blaring out jests and the occasional angry bellow; the small crash of the waves that moved in the sea, Jon found himself thinking about his bed, how much he wanted to rest in it.

“You can smell it, can’t you?” Ser Loras slowly spoke, trotting on his mount beside Jon. Brienne and Loras had rode all the way from King’s Landing to meet them in the Riverlands, serving as two extra Queensguard and the occasional company when Jon needed it. Loras was right, you could smell it. A mild smell, many different accented scents but there was always a certain freshness to it.

“It’s rather refreshing, now.” Loras turned his head to look down the narrow road that they crossed. “It used to smell like shit.”

Brienne was the first to start a laugh, which was then quickly followed by Jon’s own. He’d never had the misfortune to experience that smell, he imagined Dany quickly took care of it upon her arrival. The three of them trotted at the front of the company, the wheelhouse groaning and croaking behind them as it met the occasional rock and bump in the road. Jon couldn’t stand to wear his armour in the searing heat, none of them could. The sun had been a hateful mistress that day, beaming down on them. Though it was required, they certainly had to look their part as they entered through the gates of King’s Landing.

The streets were near the exact same as when Jon had left, the people gathered to watch the Queen and her company as they passed by.

“Seven Blessings, Your Grace!”

“Welcome home, Your Grace!”

Shout after shout, each one becoming louder to get over the other. The corners of the roads were filling quickly, streets and alleys and taverns all flooding with people.

“Here’s to the Targaryen Rule!”

He even saw three women each trying to shuffle their way to through one window to get a look. Children and adults, whores and innkeepers peeking out to see them. A row of guards all clad in steel plate were at each side of the wheelhouse, stopping anyone from going too far. Dany and her people shared a common love, Jon knew that, but there was always a risk.

“Ser Loras, ride down to the rear and tell them to move faster, we need to get through these streets.”

The Knight of Flowers nodded, turned his courser and galloped his way through the people. The train of those who returned seemed to grow over their journey, every place that they stayed, they left with three more. Freeriders and hedge knights, singers and cooks and probably even sellswords.

Before long the shouts had faded and Jon was directly below the shadowing Red Keep, a line of the City Watch stood firm at the outer bridge, leaning on their tall spears. Jon dismounted from his jet-black courser, _Thunder_ he had decided to name it. For every night you could always hear the horse stomping and snarling, unlike Ghost, Jon found it troubling to sleep whenever he was near. Bran was only to just coming to a rear, gazing around in wonder at the city.

The door to wheelhouse flung open, and Sansa was the first to descend the small steps. Looking back around at the city, Jon wasn’t sure whether she was happy or sad to be back – though she smiled. Daenerys was next, ethereal in a blinding white dress, silver hair and violet eyes gleaming. Jon wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, but he knew he couldn’t. She knew, as she offered him a quick yet rested glance. As they entered through the gates to Red Keep, a row of the Queen’s trusted counsellors stood ready to greet them. She trusts them, but I do not.

“Your Grace, the city is lit up again by your presence.” Varys took hold of one Dany’s hand and pressed a soft kiss to it, his round face shining. Jon seldom spoke to the Eunuch, but Jon knew enough to recognise that the he probably knew a lot about him, something that he would’ve have to be weary of now that he was back.

Tyrion Lannister was stood beside him, dressed in a fine Lannister crimson tunic and leather breeches. His mass of dark blonde curls thick on his head, a beard grown out on his face. He spoke to Daenerys as she approached him, though Jon couldn’t hear what over the greetings of everybody else. Ser Loras and Brienne were at Jon’s sides, Sansa and Bran were talking to Varys now. He gave his fellow knights a brisk nod and took his leave. He longed for his chambers, for Ghost – and Daenerys wouldn’t be able to speak to him anytime soon, not now she just arrived. He’d already caught eye on Littlefinger trying to snake his way into her attention.

“Jon..” He heard his name, quickly turning it was Tyrion who had called him. Stood, half-grinning. “It’s good to see you back, my friend.”

Jon was quite shocked by the words, though he nodded, smiled and carried on into the Red Keep. Daenerys would be occupied for the rest of the day, by Tyrion, by Varys, Littlefinger and the others at court, everyone but him. And just looking at her made it harder to stay away. Inside the keep, it was quiet, the only sounds being the distant echoes of another’s chatter. Jon nearly slipped into a run as he made his way, with each step he moved faster, his armour growing more and more into an irritation, thoughts of a rest heavy on his mind.

He hadn’t even closed the door to his chambers when Ghost had bounded for him, rising from below the hearth to leap forward. The direwolf stood on its hind legs, towering over Jon, with several licks to his face, Jon wrestled him to the bed, laughing. Ghost quickly sat up, he’d grown since the last time Jon saw him, his moon-pale furs glistening even brighter.

Jon spared himself of his armour, leaving it to rest on the ground. He looked over the boundaries of his balcony, seeing the familiar sight of the capital that would greet him on every morn, something that he had missed. He pulled the curtains to, restraining the beams of light to far corners, wrapped in his sheets, Ghost at his feet, and Jon was asleep near instantly.

Jon had seldom lately had dreams that he would remember, not until a few days past. He was at the Wall again, on the Wall, dressed in jet-black. Stood alone along the snowy trenches with the winds of winter whistling into his ears. Further across he saw a black figure, narrow and still. Each night he would walk, run, and scream. Every night he would get closer, and every night he would wake before he could reach whoever it was. It was the same dream that night, and he woke the same as he ever did – gasping and sweating.

His chambers were dark, even the moonlight was not daring to shine through the drapes covering the balcony. Jon couldn’t tell whether he’d slept a full day or only a mere few hours. He looked to his feet, seeing Ghost balled and snoozing, the small hum that escaped the direwolf’s throat began to calm him. He pressed his feet to the floor, the coldness like daggers piercing his skin, relieving the heat that flushed through his body.

“Jon.. are you well?” He heard the Queen’s voice from behind him. He quickly shot up, turning to see her beside the door, her expression a worried one.

“How long have you been there?” Jon’s breaths were calming now, though suddenly he was conscious of his naked chest, reaching for his smalltop.

“Long enough.” Dany said before she made her way to him, stopping as he stiffened at her approach.

“I’m fine.. it was just a dream, is all.” Jon pulled his smalltop over his scars, she’d looked across them, following each one trail by trail. They weren’t something she was supposed to see.

Dany cleared her throat, her eyes at his feet. “There’s a small council meeting, in the Tower of the Hand. I came to, escort you.”

“I’ll… I’ll be there in a moment, I’m fine.” Jon told her and turned, passing through iron studded doors into the next room. Despite the fact he could not see Daenerys, he could still sense her thoughts. Perhaps I was too harsh, Jon told himself as he swiped through piles of garments, I should apologise.

He dressed in a grey tunic, laced with black finery. As he tried to pin a black cloak over his shoulders, unable to get the small direwolf brooch to pierce through the fabric. He noticed his chambers were empty, that Dany had left without a word. He couldn’t fault her, I was wrong to act like that.

Jon attended the small council meetings whenever he could, regardless of the fact that ruling didn’t hold such an appeal to him. Whenever there was an event to be held, he would question the council as to matters of protection, but he hardly ever dealt with financial matters or otherwise. However Jon knew for a meeting to be held at this hour then it would most likely be one of importance, Tyrion would have lots of information for Daenerys to catch up on, even him.

The Red Keep was still the comfortable quiet that he favoured, torchlight shining through the halls, blooming off of the many tapestries. Jon lunged his way up the spiral steps, thinking of the looks they would gave him for his delay.

Posted on the door was Loras, still in his armour and a sword hung from his belt.

“I think you’re late.” Loras quipped, pushing the door open with an echo. Jon’s smile turned sour as he stepped his way in, seeing the majority of the council waiting.

At one head of the table was Daenerys, a serious look about her. At her left hand was Littlefinger, with his calculating expression that Jon had always hated. Then Varys, whom regarded Jon carefully. You could never see what he was thinking, his round face, eyes, gave nothing away.

“You’re not quite the punctual one, are you?” Tyrion tapped his knuckles against the oak. “I had forgotten.”

“Sorry.” Jon sat at the chair besides Varys, leaning back to avoid Dany’s demanding gaze. Though both of them knew that they had to act as normal as ever, someone like Varys or Petyr or Tyrion would easily be able to spot something amiss about them.

“So, Your Grace.” Varys leant forward, both his hands still tucked under his sleeves. “I’m afraid I have little knowledge on the whereabouts of the dragon, which in a way, is a good news all things considered.”

Jon heard Daenerys sigh. “Good news? I took the throne with my dragons, if news spreads that I cannot control them? What if he’s flown all the way to Dorne or the Wall? Or even Essos?”

No, he wouldn’t. Drogon wouldn’t go too far, Jon knew that for a certainty. “Drogon..” The words slipped from Jon’s mouth, before he could even think all the eyes had shifted to him. “He.. When the Queen fell ill in Winterfell, Drogon was there without delay. He won’t have go-”

“-How did that happen? I had the Dragonpit sealed?” Dany looked among them all, none of which could summon a response. It was finally Petyr Baelish who spoke.

“Your Grace, they are dragons. I’m afraid a locked door is the slightest of their worries.” He stroked his near sharp beard, staring into the distance as if he was deep in thought.

“And Rhaegal and Viserion?” Dany was alarmed now, worried. Jon could hear it in her words, and see the way she nearly floated from her chair.

“They’re still in the pits, your grace. Trust me, I’ve had to offer a fine reward to any man willing to check.” Tyrion darted a smile before returning to his serious expression. “Now, the King has suddenly decided to go to Wall. Surely you understand how soon this information will soon reach every noble ear? And… We will be expected to have an answer, does he mean to take the black?”

Daenerys calmed, resting back in her chair and looking away. “He’s gone with Lord Eddard Stark to speak to the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch..” Dany was stuck for words, she had little insight into the matter. Jon only saw it fit that he should share the information.

“Benjen Stark went missing beyond the Wall. Robb has taken a company there to speak with Mormont, to see if the Night’s Watch is in need of any help.” Jon didn’t stare at either of them, only where he brushed his own fingers lightly against the table. He knew there was more to it than that, the hand of the Wight; more and more rangers lost and wilding villages abandoned - but Jon knew that they wouldn’t heed his words, only scowl or laugh.

“Good.” Tyrion slouched back into his chair. “The Night’s Watch was definitely _in need_ the last I was there.”

The halfman scratched at his neck. “So what am I to expect, do we offer them men? There are just about enough in cells. Swords? Food? With Drogon on the loose, best to keep our swords close… should he burn some hold.”

“Or coin? For the shield that guards the realms of men.” The master of coin spoke, swiping a few fingers through the grey streaks in his hair. “Do send my regards to His Grace in a letter, the Wall is such a… bland place.”

“I don’t know yet…. not until the King see’s it fit to inform me.” Dany said quietly and wiped at her brow. She needs to show something, something else, Jon urged in his head, show that she cares.

Tyrion cleared his throat. “Now, young Bran Stark and Sansa have been shown to their chambers, I assume you can inform us on their purpose here?”

For a moment Jon was alarmed, he’d left them alone in the capital while he disappeared in his chambers. The Hand looked to him now, eyes waiting for an answer.

“Bran is my squire, he’ll remain in the capital for as long as it suits.” Jon had hoped his answer would be satisfactory, though Tyrion’s gaze remained – and now everybody else’s. They expect me to know the matters of all the Starks, Jon thought. “Sansa, she… She’s here at court.”

“Yes.”

“She’s… regarding marriage?”

Tyrion laughed, and Varys’ silent smirk didn’t go unnoticed. “It was on the request of her Lord Father,” Dany spoke. “He believes it will be best for her, I saw no ill in the matter.”   

Tyrion seemed to relax at that. “A raven arrived, from Ser Jorah. He says he making his leave of Meereen, to return to the capital.”

“And what of the remaining Red Sparrows?” Dany perched forward. Jorah Mormont had set for Essos a year past, to serve as the commander of Daenerys’s resistance forces in the cities she held. A company of sellswords known as the Red Sparrows had pillaged her settlements, causing unrest amongst the freed people there.

Tyrion looked back to the note, his eyes scanning. “He says, the Red Sparrows have been dealt with.”

 Dany sighed, like she was somewhat unhappy with the news. “That is all for tonight, I wish to rest.”

“Of course, your grace. Travelling can be such a tiring affair.” Varys was the first to stand, the flutter of purple and white and crimson robes as he stood. Petyr Baelish was close behind him, an ivy half-cape with the mocking bird of his House hanging from his shoulder. Tyrion then followed along, tracing his short legs up the spiralling stone steps that carried on from past the door. Jon had found himself walking slowly, a wave of cold air meeting his face as the doors fell shut in front of him.

Turning, he saw Dany stood at the balcony. Faint touches of wind swaying at strands on her silver hair. Jon approached her slowly, stopping as he reached her side, overlooking the yards that could be seen below, trimmed hedges and whitewashed barracks, and the rest of the city, the stars scattered amongst the night offered no light.

“Lord Commander..” Dany said without turning, staring at her feet. Her voice was low and tinged with a sadness.

“Yes?” Jon stepped closer, placing his hand on her hip and stroking slowly. He could smell the freshness of her hair, lilacs and roses and all the sweet things that Jon could imagine, and her body was always warm, warm like fire. He closed his eyes as he rested his chin onto the crown of her head. “I’m sorry, for what I said earlier. How I was...”

“A month..” Dany turned, cupping his cheek to stroke a hand through his mane of curls. “A month without seeing you, without that bloody armour, properly..” She seemed lost as her eyes fell from his, looking slowly at all she could. His nose, cheeks, lips.

“But we’re here now. This isn’t Winterfell, Dany. Someone could easily see us, you can’t risk that..” Jon told her, with sadness in his voice. Dany brought her hand to back of his head, closing her eyes.

“They won’t, you.. you said you didn’t care about that..”

“I know.” Jon brought his hands to her cheeks, looking down into swirling orbs of violet. “But I care about you. And I care..” He didn’t want to say his name, not now, it would only spark shame in him all over again.

“Do you want me to leave you alone then?” Hearing those words fall from Dany’s mouth, slow and sad, built a lump in his throat and swell at the back of his eyes. “We may never be husband and wife, Jon.. we may hide this for the rest of our lives, but you are mine and I am yours. You know that? You do? Don’t you?”

Slowly, their lips brushed, breaths hot. Jon then pulled her closer, his hands together at her back. His mind was at a stop, stuck; though his body acted differently. Daenerys had a way with words, she could speak in a way and her voice would calm him – make him forget _everything_ else, he had forgotten the sweet taste of her lips, how soft her skin was since last they touched. They kissed each other desperately, each one of them just as needing. When Jon finally stepped away, they were both breathing heavily.

“Come with me.” She held onto his fingers tightly, her face flushed and eyes gleaming. Jon brought his arm backwards and pulled her to him again. “What? Walk with you in hand through the castle?” Even now, Jon looked over his shoulders, still weary.

“No… but follow me.” Dany replied with a grin, her hands were slowly venturing down the fabric of his tunic.

Jon took hold of them, tracing his thumbs along her palms. “I can’t tonight, I’ve got to speak to Bran and host a meeting in the tower, and then-” Jon brought his mouth to a stop when he caught Dany’s expression, it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “I’m sorry.”

“-No, I need to rest.” Dany let go of his hands, they fell to his sides heavily. “On the morrow then.”

With that, she was striding through the chamber, traces of white gown swaying at her feet. Jon loved the way she walked, which it only made it worse for him now. Annoyingly beautiful. He loved the way she walked, talked, the smell of her, her hair, eyes….

Jon swept away his thoughts with the stroke of his hand through his hair, he approached the iron studded doors of the chamber, seeing Ser Loras Tyrell still waiting.

“Gather the others, to the White Sword Tower. As soon as you can.” Jon told him and he nodded, his milk-white cloak shining behind him as he took the steps.

Rushing through the southern spiral stairs of the Tower of the Hand, Jon was quickly tracing his steps through outdoor corridors of the Red Keep. They were still empty, as they had been, the burning torches against the walls fluttering only his own shadow. Jon was grateful for it, most nights they were filled with those of court whose faces he couldn’t scarcely begin to name. Those who would tell some other of my whereabouts, Jon thought to himself, he checked the shadows twice over just to be sure.

He came to a stop under a short bridge that towered over the walkway, ahead two paths stretched out at his either side. At Jon’s front was a grand garden, with patches of dimmed green and auburn and white. A fountain stood high in the centre, a stone wrought into the shape of three dragons; with water unfurling around them like fire from their breaths.

Jon knew what the path on his right led to, an enormous door shining in bronze would lead him into the Great Hall, and from there he could trace the corridors all the way to the southern wing, where Daenerys would be. Perhaps she would welcome him into her chambers, usher me in without delay…. No, she wouldn’t, Jon reminded himself, she knows it’s too dangerous. He took the left path, empty and narrow as he had expected.

The White Sword Tower was a slender build, posted into an angle of the castles walls and overlooking the bay beyond. The night shimmered behind the trails of white banners that hung from the walls, Jon could only see the ones holstered near the peak – the others were behind the parapets.

The oaken door opened with a creek, echoing through the further three floors. Brazier and torch alike lit up the whitewashed stone and hung white woollen tapestries, dashing rays above and below the shield-shaped table in the centre, fashioned from a weirwood. The door shut behind him, gushing wind that swayed Jon’s grey cloak. Six chairs sat empty in the Round Room, though the seventh was taken by a lad of a small size, black of hair and long of face. Snores bounced from his throat, his cheek pressed softly against the table top as he slept.

Connas Vaele, Jon remembered the steward’s name as he approached, a puddle of saliva had gathered below his mouth. Jon had to keep back a laugh, not out of spite – he assumed the poor boy had been busy in his duties. Though Jon hardly knew him, Barristan always spoke of the steward in good grace.

With a few pats to his shoulder, the boy murmured and soon faintly opened his eyes. Jon stood straight, looking down at him.

“L-l-lord c-commander…” Connas’ eyes were stretched wide as he stumbled for words, lifting his head and wiping the drool with a sleeve. “A thousand pardons, I’m truly sorry..”

“Calm down,” Jon placed hand upon his shoulder, smiling. “You shan’t be punished for being tired.” He seemed a little calmer at that, a little. And I am tired myself. “I need you to gather the members of the Queensguard, find Ser Loras and the rest, inform them they are to report here. Afterwards, go to your bed and rest.” He’d told Loras once already, but he wasn’t sure what he was doing…

Connas Vaele nodded his head so quick that drops of spittle flickered from his mouth, and then he shot through the door. Jon sat at the head seat, wiping the gathering sleep from his eyes and pulling the White Book under his chin. The book was a thousand pages thick, tall and wide.  Noting the deeds of each Kingsguard since the reign of Aegon I Targaryen. Jon skipped and skipped and skipped, stopping at the pages of Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Those who his uncle had defeated in Dorne, to get his mother, to get him. Oswell Whent as well, the three of them protecting his mother rather than the King, the heirs…. Why?

Jon found his own page, his armaments drawn to the top left. There was still space left on his page, lots of it. I intend to fill it.

“Loved his Queen…” Jon could imagine himself writing the words, leaving them for the generations of his order to read. To laugh at and shame him. Jon hadn’t considered his feelings for Dany as love, not at first, but now, if he was to write his confession – those were the exact words he would chose. It was Prince Aemon the Dragonknight who had loved his Queen-sister Naerys, his name was a legend, something Sansa would sing, would’ve.… Mine wouldn’t be.

Wind swept to meet Jon’s ears, the shackle of enamelled scales sprung around the doorway as Ser Loras Tyrell entered. Close behind, Brienne of Tarth and Ser Barristan the Bold and Ser Balon Swann. They stood at their chairs, waiting.

“Sers,” Jon said in a formal tone despite his tiredness. “Who guards the Queen?”

“Ser Kyllan Clarick and Ser Grandin Haerd .” Brienne replied.

“And three of her Unsullied warriors.” Ser Loras put in.

“Will they keep her safe?”

“They will, my lord.”

“Be seated, then.”  

Hours passed at the table, at least Jon thought, he couldn’t see a shift in the darkness outside through the shutters, perhaps it was only the torchlight. Though regardless sleep was heavy on his mind, his eyes. He had called them to discuss the matters of protection, assignments, the state of Ser Marc and Ser Boron. Inform them of his own squire Bran Stark, and that Brienne was to guard Sansa Stark if she should so request. Loras saw it unfit that the Marc and Boron should be at the Wall with Robb, rather it be himself, which was a shock to Jon, the Knight of Flowers would prefer the icy confines at the end of the realm compared to the soft silks and woollen finery. When the meeting finally came to a close, Jon sighed and kneaded his temples – rubbing at the ache that itched him.

“Lord Commander, a word, if I may.” Barristan’s hand propped his shoulder, Jon nodded and gestured him.

A look of worry was clear on his aged face, and Jon could sense the manner of words that he was about to hear. I’ve had enough of worry, of worrying.

“You look tired.”

“I am.”

“The King, I would’ve thought you were his first choice as Kingsguard.”

Jon shook his head, he’d thought the same at Winterfell; but he didn’t want to speak of it now. “Our brothers will protect him rightly.”

“What exactly sends him to the Wall? Give me the truth of it, Jon.” Barristan’s eyes were full and blooming with seriousness, I could just as easily refuse him, retire, Jon thought, but he knew that he wouldn’t. The knight had been the closest thing Jon had to a father in the capital, he would rather see himself run than refuse him of anything.

“The Lord Commander was attacked in the night, by one of the dead rangers of my uncle’s party. First he sent a raven, then a rider…. and now the rider returns with the King at his side.” Even now, the room suddenly felt colder with the mention of it.

Barristan hesitated, Jon wasn’t sure how he would react. His face was as calm as ever, his eyes still, do something. “Then, what does the King intend to do?”

“That I do not know exactly,” Jon pushed his chair back, a sharp screech gouging through the air of the room, rattling his tired ears. Barristan rose as well, nodding firmly.

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, but I know little myself. Goodnight, Barristan.” Jon smiled, the corners of his mouth aching as he did so. Barristan returned it and quickly strode from the room, leaving Jon to his own company.

He’d seldom ever stayed in the Lord Commanders apartments, atop the White Sword Tower. Jon preferred his own chambers within the keep, the ones he’d grown familiar with before he was ever Lord Commander. He sat down at a polished oaken table, hardly matching to one of the Round Room, but it was still a rest. Oddly, the braziers were lit and the hearth cackling orbs of light. Perhaps Connas had expected his return. Jon found himself thinking of Robb, and the Wall, and his father, no, uncle Eddard and Benjen. He thought of his dreams, the shrouded man in black that he would chase and chase and never catch, and Bran and Sansa and Arya and her sword, and Ghost and Thunder, and Drogon and Daenerys, her eyes and hair, smell and touch… He thought of his mother, her ocean-blue eyes and words, and now his father. Daenerys was his family, what am I doing? Jon thought, and yet, now he wanted nothing more to be wrapped in her arms.

His eyes slipped shut with his cheek against the table.

**_ DAENERYS _ **

The Dragonpit’s not only smelled foul, but lingered in darkness. Daenerys could tell as she spurred up the Hill of Rhaenys.

“No one has dared to enter, your grace, not since word of Drogon’s escape. Our Lord Hand promised knighthoods and coin to enter, many entered and none returned, that was all we needed to know.” Varys told her as they reared at the entrance, they shouldn’t have done that, Dany thought. A line of the City Watch stood tall at the two onyx entrance doors, leaning on their spears. As they caught site of her, their backs quickly straightened, spears stood tall. Ser Barristan and Ser Loras reined up beside Dany as she dismounted, along with another escort of five of her household guards, clad in crimson plate and black cloaks. Dany approached the door, at the front stood Ser Lucas Brackwell, Commander of the City Watch.

“Y’Grace.” He bowed his head, black mail reflecting dull light under the gold cloak. “I’ve had my best outside here day and night.”

Why? Dany thought, the whole of King’s Landing wouldn’t be able to stand the wrath of a dragon, never mind your best. “I appreciate your concern.”

“Please, allow me and my men to follow you in, it could be dangerous.” Lucas quickly urged as Dany made for the door.

“No.” Her voice was quiet, Dany wasn’t even sure if he heard her speak, though his expression suggested he had. Barristan and Loras marched near, donned in their plate of the Queensguard, the snowy White Cloak’s hanging from their backs.

“Allow us, Your Grace. We are your sworn protectors.” Ser Loras Tyrell held pleading eyes from under his visor, Dany shook her head. I will find my dragons. “We mus-”

“No, ser. My children will not harm their mother, I must go alone.” I must, I must.

Dany didn’t look back to see their concerned faces as the doors of black shut behind her, echoing a drum through the whole of the Dragonpit. She’d stepped past the border of their protection, whatever she had to face she would, alone. Viserion and Rhaegal would be rested in the lower depths of the pit, down in the belly of obscurity. Who had fed them if they no one had entered? Gods, I have to find them.

Darkness seemed to blanket her eyes, Dany could hardly see where she was placing her feet. But she knew this path, in her mind, she’d walked it before hundreds of times. Restoration of the Dragonpit’s had extended into a year of her reign, and she remembered seeing her children thrash through the jet halls as clear as day, though it was hard to see anything in this darkness. Familiar sounds sang in her ears once again, booming waves of clanks and thuds, hollow caws of a raven. The sour smell rested in her nose, it got easier to bare the further she went, tracing down the steps.  A cry shimmered through the stone, booming in her ears. It was Rhaegal, he knows. Dany’s steps became hurried, the green scales flushing through her mind.

Dany stepped into the open dome of the pit, small entrails of light hardly brushing against the stone floors. Dany was but the size of an ant if seen from the top, where were her dragons? She looked, up and up, searched and searched. Far into one of the many shrouded corners Dany heard a throaty growl, a deep snigger that broke the ominous silence. She turned her head, her feet slowly moving beyond her will. Through the shadows, two bronze shields of light glimmered, burning with a fire of their own. Her steps sent small pats whispering into the shadows, she wore black leather breeches with a cloak of streaming azure.

Then she saw green come alive, and the bronze shimmered in the faint wisps of light. Rhaegal’s snout swept through the shadows, slow but heavy, quiet though thunderous. Dany’s heart rammed in her chest, don’t fear, he can sense fear. Clouds of grey smoke filled the air, heat latching to her skin. Daringly, Daenerys pressed her palm to the jade coat of Rhaegal, content filling her as the dragon bowed to her touch.

Viserion? Where is your brother?

Concern spread through her once again, endless thoughts of danger. For Viserion, Drogon.. Rhaegal shifted backwards, the scales on his skin seemed to shudder as he moved. Dany followed his gaze, perching her head up she saw him.

Neck high, wings spread. Viserion’s orbs of molten gold glimmered, the rest lost in the shadows. He latched onto the far corners of the dome, so big that his frame shot shadows on the cold ground below.

“Viserion…” Dany whispered, her hand raising slowly. The dragon heard, moving. Viserion knows his name, he does, he has not forgotten me, they have not forgotten me.

In a dance of moving shadows and sheets of darkness, suddenly the cream scales were upon her, simmering breath surrounding her skin once again. Dany ran her eyes up the golden horns, felt the smoothness of clear scales. 

And Drogon? Dany checked the shadows once more, Drogon’s scales as black as night would easily go unnoticed in such depths… but he is not here, I know it, they know it.

Once the two had settled, their heads slid long across the stone and wings closed tight, Dany sat between them, smiling. She did so for hours, in the silence and the dark, nothing but the snarls and hums of her children and her voice as she talked to them. Daenerys would rather let them spring free of the Dragonpit, bask in the clouds and open sky. But she couldn’t risk that, Dany didn’t want to, not until she had Drogon back. Once she had finally ascended the steps, her vision clear through the darkness, Dany glanced one last time at her children. So big and fierce, any one of them could swallow her whole…. but they were hers, Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion. I brought them into this world, like any mother does a child.

Shots of scarlet red and orange and scattered amethyst broke the sky in a twilight, the sun edging on the horizon. Ser Lucas Brackwell stood still at attention, sighing in relief as she pushed open the onyx doors. Ser Barristan and Ser Loras smiled, nodded and fell in at her flanks. Varys had gone, Dany couldn’t blame him, the sun was high and the light bright when she had entered – now only the pale reflections beamed from the turrets of the Red Keep.

Dany craved a steaming bath, soft silks and orbs of her hearth fire. Dirt and dust latched onto her garb, layers of it breaking in the wind as she rode through the streets with her company. As they dismounted under the portcullis of the inner-gate to the Red Keep, Dany gave a stern order for her dragons to be sent charred meat for them to feast on, they would not go without. The Keep was busier than what she expected, though she showed little heed to those of court that scattered the halls, bowing their courtesies as she passed by.

“Please, prepare me a warm bath.” Dany told Irri as she entered her chambers, whom she had missed in her time at Winterfell. The handmaiden wore a painted vest and roughspun breeches. Irri nodded quickly and went on her way.

Cira was then at her back, loosening the Dothraki fashioned braid that Dany had styled her hair. “The Hand requested an audience whilst you were gone.” She spoke in a settled tone.

Dany did not want to see her Hand at this moment. “Inform Lord Tyrion that I will see him first thing come the morrow.” I want to rest, Dany thought, perhaps I will see Jon. She hadn’t seen him at all that day, which would drive her even more fiercely to seek him out at night. A moon of travelling, only being able to look at him… nothing more. But they say the walls of the Red Keep have eyes, what if someone even saw them the night before? I fear my own home, walls and hearth. Once Cira stepped back, Dany’s silver hair tousled in silver curls about her shoulders, her mind slowly coming to an ease. The handmaiden reached into an oaken chest beside the looking glass, emblazoned with crimson finery. She dug her slender hands through wraps of brightly coloured satin and velvet.

“No,” Dany waved her hand, catching Cira’s attention. “Deliver the message to the Hand, I can change myself.” She nodded, and too like Irri, quickly paced through the door.

Daenerys chose a pure white heavenly gown, formed of soft silk and short sleeves, two half-capes threaded with the Targaryen sigil in silver, falling over each shoulder. She laid it out over the bed, ready for her after she had bathed. The Queen’s chambers were formed of five different rooms, each built around a square centre garden, which bloomed flora splashed with emerald, beige and auburn. Dany was thankful for it, it was not required of her to leave her chambers if she was to bathe, she only had to walk to third room, and Dany did so stripped of her clothes without hesitation, the only eyes being those of her handmaidens, which she did not mind.  

The water was the purist of escapes, wiping off the mud and stains and thoughts in waves of warmth as she slipped into it the marble square tub. Irri stroked her fingers through her hair, it turned to a darker grey shade whenever it was wet. Dany wiped a soaked cloth down her skin, sending rivulets to spread and fall back to where they came. With her eyes closed, sheens of hot water resting upon her skin – Dany had almost fallen asleep when Irri tapped her fingers lightly on her shoulder.

“Yes?” Dany sat up, staring through strained eyes as the light met them.

“It is time for you to come out, Khaleesi.” Khaleesi, Irri still called her. Dany had never thought to command her to say otherwise, it was always a reminder of her past, what she had done and achieved to get to where she was. Every time she heard it, thoughts of Magister Illyrio’s estate filled her mind; and the towering stallions at the Horse Gate of Vaes Dothrak; Viserys and his golden crown; the birthing of her children; the desolate Red Waste and the abandoned city of Vaes Tolorro, Dany often wondered if it was still empty. She remembered the city of Qarth, Xaro Xhoan Daxos and Pyat Pree, and the shadowbinder Quaithe; Astapor and the Unsullied… though Dany did not think on it for too long, if she became too caught up in her past, what hope was there for her future? As the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, the last of her House, her blood, blood of the dragon.

As dusk finally settled, Dany swallowed down the reminders of her supper with a tart persimmon wine from a silver goblet, looking past the pillars to the garden and into the night. Mayhaps it was too late to call for Jon Stark now, and they would only question why I would want to see him. I could call for Tyrion, Dany thought as she sat still in the chair of her dining chamber, he would tell her why he had meant to visit her earlier, but what if he knew about the night before? Daenerys did not move from her seat. It was Ser Loras who was outside her door, if it was Jon she could call him in when the castle slept, but it was not Jon. That night in the Tower of the Hand she’d dismissed him, leaving as quickly as she could so his brooding grey eyes would not keep her from sleep, he was right, now she realised. They had to settle into the capital first, act no different, and that was what Daenerys did.

On the morn, Dany had spoken to Tyrion as she intended to. The information was surprisingly relieving, having slept through a long night of wondering what it would be. Word of the King’s venture to the Wall was sprouting amongst the commoners, ridiculous rumours spreading that he intended to take the black and leave his crown behind.

“In times of peace, men and women and children alike prefer to do their own duties, as long as they are without fear. Though winter is approaching, that is known and they crave a distraction.”

A tourney was what he finally recommended, after her Hand had slyly suggested points that benefitted it. The competition would be hosted on the tourney grounds for all those who wished to watch. Dany had quickly given her consent, host it in the celebration of a peaceful year and the hopes of a short winter. The rest of her days to follow were filled with royal appointments, and word had finally arrived from the Wall. Though it informed little, only telling that the King had arrived and was acquainted at Castle Black. Days later, the ravens were sent of the tourney announcement and the preparations begun, jousts, melee, archery, rewards of thirty thousand golden dragons to those who would come the in the top and free grain and food available to those at the feasts.

It has been days, Dany thought as she stepped down the Iron Throne after a day of appointments, and yet nothing had changed. They’d shared glances, though seldom said any words.

Once Dany had reached the bottom the steps she crossed the hall to an exit, intending to visit the godswood. She didn’t pray to the old gods, or the new – hardly. Though it was a solace place, the steady sway of wind that shook through the burgeoning leaves, silence beyond those calls of nature. Jon followed her flank, silent and donned in armour. It was as if he recognised what she intended when they came upon the gates of the godswood, he stopped for a moment, eyes searching hers before she continued and he followed. It was empty as Dany had expected, the two of them alone and stepping slowly through the fallen leaves at their feet. Here, here is safe. There are trees in the godswood instead of walls, sky above instead of ceiling, roots and dirt and rock in place of floor, the rats have no place to dwell.

Finally, Jon spoke. “You could just send word for me if you wanted to speak, you know.”

Dany leant to pluck a crimson rose, regarding it carefully. “You said yourself, it was a risk.” She turned. “This is not Winterfell, you said. Where better to talk than in the godswood? One like Winterfell?”

Though this godswood was nothing like the one in Winterfell, it lacked a feeling, an aroma. But Daenerys stood still and watched as he removed his helm and held it at his side.

“Or perhaps you wanted me to call for you?” Dany turned again and began a small walk further into the surroundings, bark and leaf and trunk at either side. It was the shake of the enamelled scales that told her he followed, closely. Until finally, when they were deeper within the shrouds of wood, he took hold of her wrist with a gloved hand and pulled her to him, the wine rose fell from her grip.

“A tourney?” Jon looked down into her eyes, a nervousness about his face when he realised what he’d done, and Daenerys only stepped closer.

“If you should win for me, ser. Would you name me the queen of love and beauty, and plant a rose on my lap?”

“I..”

“What, Jon?”

“I… couldn’t.. they..”

Dany sighed and stepped back, leaving him to stare at his feet. Before she could place her second step he grabbed her wrist again, harder this time and pulled her backwards.

“Stop.” Dany looked at where his gloved hand held her wrist. “Unhand me.”

Jon let go of her wrist and instead scooped his hands around her back and sealed her mouth with his, all in one quick graceful movement. Her mouth opened for his tongue, even though she didn’t want it to do so. Dany pushed lightly against his shoulders, no, he expects me….. to…. to…. her hands then went to the back of his head, nestled in the curls she found there, drawing him closer. It was the sweetness she craved, it was what she had waited for and wanted.

“I would.” Jon drew back, “I would.”

“What?” Dany asked him, forgetting her objections.

“I would unhorse all the other knights, no matter where they came from or who they were. Afterwards I would name you my queen of love and beauty, and yes, place a rose on your lap.”

He would, I can see it in his eyes. Eyes that usual gave away little, were now stamped with truth. “I will await it eagerly.”

Jon smiled. “You could take up a lance, do some jousting yourself.”

“And crown you my gallant king full of strength, it would be a story to remember, though not the first time a Targaryen would’ve named a Stark.” 

His face grew pale for a moment, empty, until he brought his eyes back up. “Let’s not talk of the past..”

They weren’t acting like a Queen and a Lord Commander, Dany knew. They were acting like two young lovers, sweetened with the promise of promises, that is what we are, is it not? Yet everything else denies us that. He was looking down at her lips, thinking. Dany couldn’t tell what it was about, though she did not ask, only waited and watched. His own mouth parted and then closed, stopping any words that he was going to say. “Yes..” he suddenly murmured, running his hand down her silver-blonde hair.

“Yes.” Dany replied, it was not a question. She slid her hands slowly to the two direwolf clasps that held up his White Cloak, with a click they fell, and so did the cloak, white and drifting slowly to the ground.

“Yes?” He repeated, his ridged helm fell from his hand, meeting the ground with a sonorous echo, forgotten.

Piece by piece, she unburdened him. His armament scattered amongst the leaves at their feet, though their eyes never moved, their heads never turned. Yes, yes, Dany’s head rung with the word. Yes.

Jon lifted her into his arms before his final glove could reach to the rest, she wrapped her legs around him. Yes. Behind a thick hedge and trunk, where little light passed through the leaves of red, Jon settled her down amongst the grass.

Dany sat up as he watched her still, her hands went to the straps of her mauve cloak, and she untied it slowly and laid it down beneath them. Yes. There was no coldness, nothing but them, alone.

Quickly, their lips and tongues and teeth were touching once more as Dany eased the straps of her dress. She moved, nibbled her teeth at his neck as one hand pried at the clothes between them. Yes. Jon nuzzled his face into her shoulder, planting kisses slowly onto the bare skin. The white velvet slid gracefully down her body, Jon followed it with his mouth. “I love the smell of you,” he said, moving downwards. “I love your hair. I love your mouth and the way you kiss me. I love your smile. I love your-” Dany pulled the cover past her breasts, Jon stared and then kissed them, one and then the other. “I love your legs,” He smiled, Dany had pushed the gown as far as she could, leaving it resting on her mound. Jon took hold of it, slowly sliding it down to her feet. Yes.

“If you love me so, why are you still dressed?” Dany rested her head back against the mattered hood of the lilac cloak, staring up at the red canopy. “Must I d- oh. Oh. OHHH.”

A sudden warmth shot up from between her thighs, riling up to her head. Jon had buried his face between her legs, kissing and licking and sucking at her. Dany gasped looks in surprise, biting her lip hard to keep the further moans from escaping her mouth. No, no…. Yes, yes, yes. She fisted his mane of locks, so hard her knuckles turned white. Anything to keep her on the ground, anything… Dany was slowly shifting her body upwards, though Jon did not relent, her hands still pulling his hair as he kissed her. She did not stop her cries of pleasure, let the trees stop them…

“Don’t….” Dany heard her voice, breathy and half a pant. “Stop..” she finished, it was not exactly what she had been wanting to say, but she could hardly muster words, not now, no. She squeezed her legs tight, bucking and loosening until she finally peaked. Dany placed her wrist above her mouth, biting hard as her back arched from the cloak below her. Afterwards, with her eyes closed she laid still with her chest rising and falling. Dany could hear the faint whistle of wind, though she could not feel it.

Finally opening her eyes, Jon had removed his smallclothes, they were…. somewhere….. He pulled the huge cloak around him as he hovered above her, she could not see him, but she could feel him. Aroused and pressed against her thigh.

“Yes. This is right, this is.” She whispered once more as she guided him inside her, still wet and wanting. He groaned into her mouth, his arms becoming weaker. Yes, Dany wrapped her arms around his bare back, his head slowly falling to her shoulder as his moved inside her.

Nothing would be the same, not anymore, not ever.

**_ EDDARD _ **

“I’ve got forty rangers scouting the villages, to be certain.” Jeor Mormont was a gruff man, with a long beard and a raven that hunched upon his shoulder. “Certain,” it echoed. “Certain, Certain, Certain.”

Ned swallowed the thick black piece of mutton, an early meal that the cook had supplied, Three-Finger Hobb the called him, everybody here had a nickname, soon enough he would have one too. “And when will they return?”

“Come the morn if the gods are good.” If the gods are good, Benjen will be amongst them when they do, if they do. Ned had tried his best to avoid the worse thoughts, but he could no nothing but doubt and be afraid. Be brave, Ned told himself, you know how to be brave.

“And the wildlings? What of them? Has there been any more raids?”  Robb sat with a huge bearskin cloak wrapped around him, the brown furs tangling with his Tully coloured mass of hair, blue eyes gleaming even in the dim of the light. He never wore his crown here, Eddard had noticed, it was a relief to see him without it on his brow.

“No, not of late. The Watch can hold those villages, Mole’s Town is close, hardly.” The ‘Old Bear’ cracked an egg, the raven on his shoulder spreading its wings wide.

“Hardly?” Robb repeated.

“We’re low on men,” he seemed ashamed to admit it, but they already know. “The raiders, we catch them eventually, but not until blood has been spilled.” He sunk the yolk into his mouth. “Blood,” the raven cawed. “Blood.”

Eddard had knowledge on the raiders, so did Robb. He had – on the slightest occasions – had reports of wildlings from his own men, whom they had attacked and killed before they could raid, though that was usually only ten or more men, seldom a full party. “The villages along the Gift, me and brother had discussed gifting them, to those willing to hold it. With guards, that would save as a barrier for the wildings.”

“I spoke the same with Benjen, a good plan no doubt, but easier to be thought about then done. The winds are rising, and winter is coming, the numbers of those willing to come up and live so far north grow fewer every day, especially with knowing that they may suffer a raid.”  

He was right, Ned knew, Robb must know too – he only nodded his head and drunk at his morning water. There were always ways though, people would be willing to ride on the strength of gold and lordships, though that would take time that they might not have.

Every day had been even colder than the one before. Here, the ice seemed to latch and crawl and stick to your skin, despite the amount of layers a man wore. A fire lit up the hearth in the Lord Commander’s Tower, were both Robb and Eddard, Ser Rodrik Cassel and Bryce had come each morn to break their fast, though it helped it did not make the coldness disappear. Robb had took residence in the King’s Tower, up in the highest sleeping compartment, Eddard had the one below him, a dark place even darker with the memory of his own chambers in Winterfell. The company that the King had brought were both housed in Castle Black and camped in tents and pavilions beyond it, swaying in grey and white. No walls were raised to the south, east or west of the stronghold, only the Wall to the North. So it is hardly a castle, Ned reflected, just buildings and towers, two-thirds of which were falling down.

The Wall was weeping that day, grey and solemn and weeping. New recruits battered at each other in the courtyard, greenboys so they were called, the smell of summer on them, Winter is coming. The master-at-arms of Castle Black stood bellowing in a sharp, cold voice. Ser Alliser Thorne, Ned remembered, his House had fought with the Targaryen’s in Robert’s Rebellion, and he was given the choice by Tywin Lannister to take the black or die, most like he held Ned little respect though.

“Walk with me, father.” Robb stepped out from the Commander’s Keep, his cheeks flushed from the cold.

“As you command.” Ned nodded, the sounds of sworn brothers and king’s men, steward and builders and men-at-arms, the shrill sigh of wind and croak of planks.

“That, wasn’t a command.” The King replied, Ned took him by the shoulder and began their way. The two of the Kingsguard who accompanied them walked slowly at their back, still in the enamelled scale plate besides the cold, they hide it well. The new recruits in the courtyard stopped the swinging of their blunted swords as they passed by, gazing with many eyes; blue and brown and green and black, some who watched in respect and others hatred; those who remembered who sent them here.

They approached the cage, black like everything else, and stood in silence as it began its ascent. The towers slowly falling, they’re not much like towers at all, Ned thought. Above, through grey rusted bars Eddard saw the sky divided, swirls of titian battling against dull grey clouds that due from the North, light against darkness. It seemed as if they were on the near of touching them when the cogs screeched, groaned and then came to a stop and the door swung open. Ned stepped out onto the Wall, the border of the realm and followed Robb through the narrow trenches until they came to a stop at one of the many battlements, a huge trebuchet tanking to their right. Even looking down caused Ned’s stomach to growl, careful, he thought, this ice is slippery and peasant and highborn alike won’t survive that fall.

“Uncle Benjen is out there, somewhere.” Robb spoke, gazing out beyond. Half-a-mile of land stood bare from pines, sentinels and oaks, nothing but snow. Then the forest began, a swaying mass of darkness that swept as far the eye could see.

“Better him than you, he knows the land well.” They tell me.

“He’d be back then,” Robb turned to look at him, and sighed. “What help can I offer, father? I don’t know that land, I can’t find him alone. I’ve brought my men but what can we do?”

“Nobody expects you to find him alone.” Ned swallowed, readying for what he was about say. “Benjen might be lost, a corpse, alone, but this is not all for naught. The Lord Commander is to lead a ranging, the biggest in known history,” Robb’s eyes lit up, slightly. “Wait for his return and heed the news that he brings, then you can offer the realms help, truly.”

Robb turned back to gaze of into the end of the world. “What if he doesn’t return? Like my uncle.”

Ned did not know what to say to that, winter is coming, he thought, winter is coming.

“I cannot sit and wait for his return,” the King spoke. “I simply cannot, my men will grow restless, I can’t. If I’m to do anything at all, then I must seek it out myself.”

No, Ned thought, your mother will not like this.

“I will go with the Old Bear, with all my men. Through the cold, through the King-beyond-the-Wall if I must, I will.”

Jon’s word echoed in his head, _he doesn’t know what he’s going to find out there._

“No, we will. You will not go alone.”

It is done, I can see it in his blooming blue eyes.

Far off, in the distance, below. Ned almost missed it, a shape of black against the sheet of white. Then, a horn cried, ahhoooooooooooooooooo, its pale signal echoed through the icy trenches, even shook the Wall beneath him. Once, he thought, rangers returning.

One rider, steaming on his horse. It could be Benjen, he wished, and so did Robb. But then more emerged from the trees, upon their mounts and rushing, running. They both watched from above, squinting to see them, they were like mere ants.

By the time they had both reached the yard, were the riders spread in noisy stamps, the Lord Commander already stood waiting with his officers, Othell Yarwyck and Bowen Marsh looking down from atop the oaken balcony of the common hall.

“Empty, m’lord.” Eddard heard the front one speak, his voice half a sigh and his boiled leather and black oiled mail well-worn. From the look of Jeor, Ned couldn’t tell whether he was grateful or upset. He and Robb stepped into the yard, to look upon the riders that shot weird glances, before long all their faces – twenty Ned counted – were plastered upon them.

“His Grace King Robb and Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.” The Lord Commander told them, holding out his hand.

Some nodded, some bowed, and some simply turned back to the Lord Commander. “It is what it is,” Mormont continued. “Ser Prestan come to my chambers within the hour, and the rest, we have to discuss our ranging.” With that he left and Ser Prestan and the rest of his riders began to spur the colts into a trot, one man drew close to them, the look of him a dour one.

“We didn’t find your uncle, Y’Grace, brother, my lord.” He blinked a few times. “You can worship the old gods, but they’ll do you no good out there. The old and new alike delight to piss on us.”

Of course they didn’t find him, Ned thought, he’s lost. “Your name?”

“Edd, some call me Dolorous Edd, my mother named me Eddison Tollet at her breast, take your pick my lord, I’m not one to decide for you.” Then even Dolorous Edd followed the rest into the bunkers and stables.

 Robb wiped the coldness from his brow. “We should go to the Old Bear’s tower.”

“Yes.” Ned replied, but before they moved a small boy moved to the front of them, fat and round of face, flushed beet-red and panting. “S-s-sorry my lord, Your Grace. I-I-I just had a s-small question, i-If I m-may?”

Ned nodded.

“Y-your s-son, Jon Sno- Stark.I-I knew him, b-before he left, that is.” The boy looked terrified, even to speak.

“Did you?” Robb asked and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Y-yes, he was my-my only f-friend, t-t-then.” Ned smiled at that, hearing of Jon’s kindness here. This boy cannot be the most favourable of those here at the Wall, a sworn brother fatter than the High Septon.

“What is your name?” He asked him.

The boy hesitated then spoke. “Samwell Tarly, my lord, of Hornhill. D-d-did Jon e-ever speak of me?”

Robb nodded. “Yes, on many occasions. He has not forgotten you, Samwell Tarly.” He lied, Ned realised, or perhaps he did not, perhaps Jon had spoken so much of him, I would not know, perhaps I know him just as well as Samwell Tarly does.

The meeting had consisted of Jeor Mormont, Thoren Smallwood and Jarem Buckwell, Ser Alliser Thorne and Maester Aemon, himself and Robb. It was dull with the knowledge of what they planned, to ride out into the unknown. Though their faces had lit up when Robb had told them of what he had decided, perhaps that was their wish all along. They would be leaving in a sennight, through the empty villages and through the forest, word was to be sent to the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-sea. When Eddard finally retired, the moon was shooting pale on fingers of light on Castle Black, and his cell in the King’s Tower was dimly lit.

He slept full in his tunic and breeches, smallclothes underneath and huge cloak as an extra layer of cover. Even the small fire spitting the hearth didn’t send much of a warmth, only the small candle melting beside his bed seemed to beam a slight comfort of heat to his head. He stared into it, the small flick of flame that was warmer than any part of him, he could see a dragon’s eye and fire, and then it flickered again and fell away, fell into the cold and the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I'm definitely going to try and get the next chapter out a lot quicker compared to this wait and also include more POV's each chapter! If there are any mistakes in the writing please inform me. And don't forget to leave a comment! :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say sorry for the long wait, yet again. I'm just quite busy at this moment, and soon to be busier for the time being. Chapter 10 will be good, I hope. But perhaps a long while until it's released, just depends on the circumstances.  
> Anyway, this chapter I think has the best sort of ASOIAF writing-style if you catch my drift. A few special mentions I wanted to point out; lord of blogfell, ser david, josh, asher and akuze, nicole, Greth, strangah, PumpkinKingofGames and all the others for their comments. Cheers.

** Chapter Nine **

**_ TYRION _ **

“Do bring a few cushions when we are here next.” Tyrion Lannister looked over to his most loyal, black-hearted, jeering, and amusing yet deadly sellsword. No, a knight, I mustn’t forget that now.

“Since when was I your squire? Carry your own damn cushions.” Bronn sniffed the heavy morning air that lingered in the tourney grounds, just beyond the King’s Gate. Wagons and oxcarts scattered amongst the paths, bundles of builders huddled around the tracks, constructing a stout stand to seat the Queen and her council. Tyrion insisted that he oversee the process, though he was quickly coming to regret it - waking at first light to spend hours watching the builders gather frames for the viewing stands quickly grew tiresome. Those platforms that were old were rotten were to be taken down to be replaced with whitewashed oaken spectator stages, black and crimson canvas sheets would be draped over the main stand, emblazoned with the roaring three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

Why did I have to suggest a tourney? You lack-witted Imp, surely a, feast would suffice? Tyrion’s chestnut colt shivered underneath his saddle, yes, it’s cold, we’re all cold. The ravens had taken to the sky, carrying words of the tourney and soon enough knights and Lords and Ladies would be flooding the capital, even more so than they already were. Perchance Tyrion would grow to like the new company, for however long it lasted.

Watching the jousting grounds be raked brought up some memories Tyrion would’ve rather kept down, his golden-haired brother Jaime Lannister. His face came to life in front of him, the green emerald eyes, the very face he’d worn the day he was sent to the Wall to join the Night’s Watch; he was free of one vow, only to then take another. The King would without doubt despise his presence after he took up arms against the North, though the last Tyrion heard his brother was at the Shadow Tower.

“Back to the Keep.” Tyrion turned his mount to face Bronn and Podrick, both of them just as drowsy as he was.

As they set a steady trot, going too fast made his head rattle. Under the King’s Gate Bronn looked to Tyrion. “I’m a Knight, I could joust myself.”

Tyrion held back a snort. “Have you ever jousted, ser?”

“No, bu-”

“And do you know who will be jousting in this tourney?” It may be early, but Tyrion did not lack for his witticism. “Ser Jon Stark, Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, Brienne the Beauty, surely you would not prefer to be unhorsed by a young boy and a woman?”

“They’re knights of the Queensguard, I would feel no shame.”

“I believe I know you too well, my friend.” Tyrion looked over his shoulder to see him frowning. “A melee would suit you, you’d do well there. And perhaps the archery.”

“Will your Ser Jon of Stark and Loras of Tyrell be taking part in this melee?”

“Why, you should have to ask them yourself, I’m afraid they cannot hear mine own words, how small I am and how tall and gallant they are.”

“Fuck you, dwarf.” Bronn said, trotting steadily beside him. Tyrion laughed and dug his heels into his horse, commencing a quick gallop back to Aegon’s High Hill; back to the Red Keep; and a morning glass of Arbor Gold. His head hurt less when he thought of that. The city was quiet for the moment and the streets empty, the only faces being those of the hired builders and the City Watch on patrol, every house that thrust forward its gable was shuttered and barred, Tyrion could hardly tell when one ended and another began. A sheen of fog seemed to lightly blanket everything he could see, icy still and yet to be thawed by the morning light. Two of the City Watch stood conversing on the entrance of an alley, black hard mail under the cloaks of gold. Ser Lucas Brackwell was Tyrion’s own man, as Ser Jacelyn Bywater had been before a quarrel found his throat – though Lucas was tougher yet more obedient, and managed to recruit a hefty two thousand extra for the City Watch just in three years.

As they approached the Keep Tyrion noticed the ten of the Queen’s men-at-arms lined and stood straight, ever obedient. Some with tall onyx spears and others with longswords hanging from their belts, steel-clad with shining helms with one narrow eye-slit for a visor. Cloaks of jet falling to their feet, at either side of the drawbridge the Targaryen House banner swayed slowly in the morning drifts – a sight that Tyrion expected he would never once witness. They moved aside as he approached them, not exchanging a single word.

“What happened to her eunuchs?” Bronn said as they rode under the portcullis, small wisps of pale air left his mouth as he spoke.

“Most are in Essos, though she’s kept a certain few here. She still tries to enforce her rule upon Slaver’s Bay, though I fear that the cause is lacking.” Tyrion told him, many a time he’d tell her to bring back her swords and leave the cities to themselves, though she relented.

Bronn shook his head, “It’s the cruellest thing to do, chop a fighters cock off, every man needs a woman after a fight.” You need a woman after a fight, you mean?

“She freed the slaves there.” Podrick suddenly spoke, his voice dry and hoarse. He nodded and smiled when he told them, like they didn’t already know. Perhaps Bronn didn’t, he only has a mind for killing – that is why I like him.

“Pod, be so kind to take our horses back to stables. Water them, then be quick to my chambers. I have some jobs for you.” The squire nodded, took the reins of their horses and prodded off into the keep. Bring wine, Tyrion forgot to tell him.

“Come.” Tyrion said to Bronn, who even at this hour wore a fine cobalt doublet with soft velvet, a woollen cape of gold. A knight’s look, Tyrion thought, but under that cloak was a longsword and a dirk, and under that was a killer. As they made their way to the inner drawbridge, which was as empty as ever on an early morn, Tyrion suddenly came to a halt…. he had missed it at first, then on a second glance…

Ghost-white fur emerged, eyes shot red that seemed to shine. Tyrion found himself scared, deeply – his heartbeat quickening in his chest. Though it was no stranger of a sight to him, Ghost would often stride the halls like a ghost, whenever he was not in the Kingswood. Though there was an eeriness to him now, something amiss. Suddenly the direwolf twitched, snarled and shook a howl from his throat, a shrill wave that echoed through the city like water.

Tyrion was still at a stop, beside him Bronn hand one hand of the hilt of his longsword, something that looked like fear in his eyes. Then, a hand emerged and swept across the snowy bristles on Ghost’s side, a tall figure in a shroud of a blue cloak.

“Lady Sansa.” Tyrion wiped the sweat from his palms, if anything, I’m awake now at least.

Ghost relaxed, sniffing in the pale mist and moving his red gaze to the ground. “My Lord,” she came to a stop, squeezing the snow-white fur.

“My lady, thank the gods you are here. I near soiled my breeches.” Tyrion gestured Bronn. “I’m sure my friend here is grateful.”

Bronn brought his arm back to his side, brushing his cloak back over the longsword. He nodded.

The direwolf crept forward, brushed his snout above Tyrion’s head and passed. He’s warning me, that one, where is his master? Sansa Stark soon followed him, nodded and then rushed into a run to keep up.

“Direwolf banners on the walls, under crowns and in the halls.” Bronn said as they walked.

“True, perhaps you could make that into a song? Direwolf’s in the halls?”

Bronn shrugged, in truth Tyrion had heard enough songs for his liking too, he didn’t need to hear anymore. And then they were on the doors of the Tower of the Hand. It was always a long trek to his chambers, with his stunted legs waddling over each step, though it’s better than being carried, Tyrion remembered he was carried once, whether he was too drunk or injured he could not recall.  Podrick was stood by the table with a flagon of red and a platter of golden goblets, he’s too good to me.

“Get yourself a cup, why, you’ve earned it.” Tyrion said as he sat down and reached for the fresh parchments upon his desk.

“Too early for me, my lord.”

“More for us.” Bronn smiled before he took a short swig, swirling the Arbor gold in his mouth and then swallowing.

Tyrion unfolded the note to find it was from no one other than Littlefinger, he swallowed some wine before reading.

Gold, the note stressed, gold, gold, and gold. Had he sent to the letter to him because he was Hand, or because he was a Lannister? I do not shit gold, Petyr Baelish, neither did my father. The man always had some way of putting two coppers together and spawning a golden dragon, perhaps he yearns for gratitude. The treasury was fairing the last Tyrion checked, though not as plentiful as he had liked. Soon enough they would thirty thousand golden dragons poorer.

“You always get that look when you something bothers you.” Bronn said as he sat down.

“Matters of gold.” Tyrion crunched the parchment in his hand and supped more wine. “Pod, please find Littlefinger. Tell him, that I would like to discuss this in person.”

“Yes, my lord.” Podrick left the chambers.           

Speaking to Littlefinger in the flesh was just as tedious as in ink, all his words seemed to form some greater riddle. I should have gotten rid of him much earlier, Tyrion thought. Petyr Baelish was one the first to come to Dany’s side, and soon enough she was dependant on him, from all the coin he brought in to pay for her spending. She needed gold to train an army, he provided the gold, she needed gold for repairs, he was there, for any cost, Littlefinger supplied. Perhaps he’s the one who shits gold all along.

 As Tyrion Lannister brought down his goblet, he sensed a presence beside him.

“Pod, I sent you-”

Then he smelt the perfumes.

“I’m afraid I’m not, what’s his name, Podrick?” Varys smirked.

“A clever touch.” Tyrion sat up in his seat. “Like you don’t know the name of every boy in this city.”

 “If I did, my lord. Things would be much simpler.”

“Sit.”

Varys looked to Bronn, lingering his stare.

“What?”

“I’m afraid I must speak with the Hand, alone.”

Bronn rose, his golden cloak swaying behind him. Varys then filled his seat as he swept through the door. What story should the Spider bring this time?

He had a strange look about his round face, though his eyes were blank. “Firstly,” he began. “Three armed riders came into the city not a week past, whilst at your own Chataya's brothel, one of them began to talk about the Queen, the older one insisted he would… perchance enjoy bedding her.”

This? “If I chained every man that said something of the sort, I would have no free time to myself. He was in a brothel, no? Clearly mad with lust.” Tyrion took a long gulp from his cup. “Is that all?”

“I’m afraid not.” 

Splendid, they always said Dwarfs were lucky.

“Ser Jorah Mormont has set sail from Braavos, although not alone as we might have preferred. He brings back three new companions, a Tyroshi, Pentoshi and a Braavosi, though I do not know their exact names, yet. I do know that as they prepared to board The Bryony, one of them loosed an arrow into a crewman’s hand for giving him too small a cabin.”

What a fool. “Well, we cannot stop them now. Remind me to give them suitable apartments upon their arrival, I shan’t be having an arrow through mine own head.”

Varys smiled. “It would be terrible thing, my lord. What would the realm be without you?”

One dwarf fewer. “In chaos, I’m sure.”

“News of the tourney has certainly spread, we should expect an arrival of knights.”

“I expected no less, all this bloody capital is filled with knights and their squires. Do make certain that they speak highly of Her Grace, it would be a crime not do so.”

“Any news of the dragon?” Tyrion then asked, that was something that he had forgotten to ask him earlier. The dragons were more than often in his thoughts, he even dreamt about them too. Though a dragon loose in the realm meant nothing but danger.

“No, I have many little birds, my lord. But I’m afraid they cannot fly so high.”

“A shame. If we cannot release word of this, let us dispatch our own men in search of the dragon. We cannot hold the risk any longer.” Tyrion said sternly, watching the eunuch’s round face with every word he spoke.

“Of course, though what would these men do? They have neither wings nor the courage to face a dragon.” Varys feigned disappointment, he must have, even Daenerys herself did not like as forlorn as him. “And what if they happened to stumble upon the beast? The dragon is most like to kill them.”

“There is one.” Said Tyrion slowly, rubbing his fingers against the bristles of his golden-brown beard. Varys quickly understood, it was him who had told him of what happened in the courtyard of Winterfell. Tyrion had hardly believed it, only Daenerys herself could come so close to the dragons, but Lord Eddard Stark had given her his word on the matter, Jon Stark himself and Robb Stark and Arya Stark…. oh the Starks would never lie. 

“No. We can hardly be certain. That-”

Tyrion interrupted him. “Do you doubt your precious _little birds?_ Do they sing false songs? A last resort then, should all else fail. How does my own castellan fair? At Casterly Rock?”

Tyrion had left Tytos Brax to serve in his absence, as Hand he was required in the capital. Though he would visit the Rock as often as he could, if only father could see me. When he reached manhood Tywin had appointed him in charge of all the drains and cisterns of Casterly Rock, now it was all his. All of it, even the drains and cisterns as well.

“Sufficiently. I would’ve thought you would be well informed on your own holdfast? Do you wish to send a message?”

“No, I suspect he holds no content towards me. I don’t trust him either, though I trust the others lesser still. If the dragon was to go anywhere, I would’ve thought it would be the Rock, not Winterfell.”

“Who knows where it would go? Only a few years past, the talk of living dragons would’ve brought one the title of madness. Though now, we pretend to understand them… I prefer little birds.” 

Varys rose, his robes of fine gold and azure trailing with him. “My lord.” He bowed, brought a smile to his big round face and then left Tyrion’s chambers. Though the smell lingered, heavy smells that were bittersweet. How many places in Westeros had the scent of the Spider?

Tyrion brought his goblet to his lips, finding only a few drops that sat against his tongue. Across the table was the golden flagon, decorated with crimson rubies.

The King at the Wall, with Lord Stark, Tyrion thought as he refilled his goblet. The Queen here, and a dragon free out there. Such ignitable circumstances, yet there was peace still.

The Arbor gold was as sweet as ever.

**_ SAMWELL _ **

This one was abandoned, so the Old Bear commanded they made camp there.

The fire beside him was warm, as warm as it could be beyond the Wall – which was still rather cold. Grenn had made it as the others settled their horses and made their own fires, pines of ivy that stretched onwards and onwards surrouned them, save a bare flat patch of land where the wilding village had once been erected. Beyond a line of smaller tents stood the Lord Commanders pavilion, where the officers of the Night’s Watch went in out. I bet they don’t even know I exist, Sam thought with self-pity as he fumbled the fire with a stick. Beyond the Lord Commanders tent was the King’s own pavilion, bigger still and coloured in deep shades of grey and white, though most of it was latched with an icy sheen, sending it as pale as snow.

Jon still remembered him. That was the only thing that he thought about as his eyes croaked open in the mornings and fell shut at night. Sam had imagined him donned in the armour of the Kingsguard, with his Valyrian steel blade and slashing through foes that came to fight him. He was always the strongest, Sam remembered, fit to be a knight. Outside the flaps of the King’s tent was two knights of the Kingsguard, stood like statues. Though they were out of their armour for the moment, clad in furs and leathers and heavy bearskin cloaks, the swords still hung openly from their belts.

Beside him, the sledge of ravens was at a still in low piles of snow. Inside the ravens were cawing and barking aloud, sending shrill cries across the encampment to rattle amongst the trees.

“Snow.” Some cried, Sam had taught them that when Jon left. As Maester Aemon’s own steward he oft spent his days and nights with them, writing out the words that he was told and sending them off into the sky. Though Maester Aemon was not here, he was too old and frail. And Clydas couldn’t write as good as he could, so he was here, in the cold.

Sam shook some twigs from his boots and poked at the fire again, that was when Grenn and Edd came back.

“Watch the fire, Sam.” Edd said as he sat on his rolled out sleeping mats, with another unrolled for a pillow. “It’s cold, but fire is still fire. And fire burns.”

Smalls tendrils of smoke rose into the night, disappearing into the darkness above the pines. Sam looked into the heart of the fire, I could lay in it and still not feel a thing, Sam thought, he had forgotten what it felt like to be truly warm.

“Do you think dragonfire is warmer than, just, fire?” Grenn asked, doe-eyed as he stared deep into the flames.

“Ask the king.” Edd told him. “Walk into his tent and ask him.”

“I… can’t, his guards wouldn’t let me. And how would he know?”

“My point precisely, any man who knows is dead. Why not pray to the gods to see a dragon, and if they hear you, one might come in the night. The winged shadow, the dark one.”

“Drogon.” Sam said. “The dragons name is Drogon, the largest of the three.” He knew all the dragon’s names, their colours – scale and fire both – and their size. But he had never seen them with his own eyes. Cravens don’t deserve to see dragons, and I’m the biggest craven in the world. 

“We’re to move up onto Craster’s, I’ve heard. Then onwards to the Fist.”

Sam didn’t like Craster, despite the fact he’d never even laid eyes on him. Though he’d heard the men talk, he is wildling to the bone and married his own daughters. Yet housed the Watch whenever they needed all the same.

A wolf howled in the distance from afar, though the forlorn song still met Sam’s ears, sending a fear into him. He added an another piece of wood to the fire, I must keep it going, Sam told himself, fire is light against the darkness. If Jon was here I wouldn’t be scared, he had courage, he would tell me what to do.

“Those two wildlings get tret’ better than us, inside those tents by the King.” Grenn said with spite in his voice.

“They’re not our prisoners,” Sam told him. “King Robb and Lord Eddard can do with them whatever they please, it’s not our place to judge them.”

Grenn shrugged. “Nobody ever said we couldn’t judge, that wasn’t in our vows.”

“Surprised you can still remember the vows.” Dolorous Edd said quietly, laid on his back and looking into the stars.

Grenn said, “The Night’s Watch have always fought the wildlings, bringing them here is an insult, to us.”

“They’re still prisoners. No matter how they are treated, they are still the King’s prisoners. Prisoners, but not ours,” Sam said as he shivered. “Not ours.”  He trusted the King would keep them close, what if they got out in the night and killed as many men as they could before they had been cut down themselves? They would kill him first, the fat and helpless one.

Sleep hadn’t come easy that night. Sam huddled under his furs and wrapped a scarf about his neck, lifted his hood to stop the swaying breeze of wind that poked at the back of his head. His mind was empty but for fear by day, but by night it was fear and nightmares. The two wildlings had escaped from their tent and brought down the King-beyond-the-Wall to kill every man he knew, wolves and dragons were feasting on the flesh of his brothers and the King was but a walking corpse with an icy crown on his head. Grenn was bathing in the black fire of the winged shadow, laughing as it seared through his skin. Dolorous Edd was blue-eyed and moaning, prodding his feet slowly through the snow.

“Dead,” his voice rattled. “Dead, dead, dead.”

And then, a horn screamed.

Three times.

Three times!

_Three times!_

Sam tried to move, but realised he could not. He could only watch, watch the night. Watch the waves of fire and the look amongst the charred corpses that littered the wood, he saw Lord Eddard Stark’s body beside his Valyrian greatsword Ice, he had fought. Why had the gods taken him? And not me?

Blunt thuds of a horse’s hooves met his ears, Samwell tried to look, but he could not turn his head to see. Everything hurt, his head and arms and legs and feet. Then the black courser was upon him, dead flesh dripped from its mouth, eyes and rotted brown flesh patched through its mane. Atop the mount sat an Other, an ice-prince with snow-white hair and small clouds of cold raising from his skin. Armour like frozen water stuck to his chest and arms and legs, within it Sam saw a reflection – a round weeping boy who should already be dead, a craven.

The Other raised his blade, cackled a shrill cry and suddenly… stopped. Sam had to know, had to see what is was exactly. With all his effort he turned his head even more, pain shot down his body all the way to the tips of his frozen toes. Through the ice-prince’s pale chest, icy armour and tendrils of cold, a dark blade pierced. It was a darker shade than regular steel, ripples reflected in the torchlight from where it had been folded a thousand times. The clouds of cold grew thicker, the Other screamed, and then burst and dissolved into the wind.  

Behind, Samwell’s champion, saviour, stood Jon Snow. He’s saved me! He’s saved me! Blood shot down from his right eye, reaching his upper-lip. He wore cream-white armour that seemed to bristle and swirl like the surface of an ocean, untouched by blade.

“J-j-j-j-j-o-” Sam tried to speak, but something was stopping him. Stopping his movements.

Jon walked towards him, each step a boom in his ears. Dragons and men and wolves fought behind, sending the woods into a snowy inferno. He’s saved me!

Jon raised his blade high. No! No! What are you doing? No, you saved me! The sounds grew silent, the woods around him turned to dust until there was nought but the two face on. Sam was weeping, laid down on his back. Longclaw fell and met his skull, cracking through flesh and bone.

Sam never felt the swords kiss, only the cold.

“Is this the one?” He could hear a distant voice through the prods and moans of horses, the ravens beside him cawed and cawed.

“Snow, snow, snow.”

“Yes, that’s him. The big one.” Another voice answered, deeper than the one before.

Samwell felt kicks against his stomach. “Wake up!” One of the voices called, he could not tell until he opened his eyes. Two of the Stark men stood looming above him, one at either side. Clad in mail and plate and boiled leather, heavy brown cloaks to keep them warm.

The one on the left said, “Lord Stark has requested in your presence in his pavilion.”

What? Me? No, why me? Had I said something wrong, done something?

“As quick as you can.” Said the one the right, he had the deeper tone.

Then they were gone, the sounds of horses and ravens and men grew louder. The forest was shot in pale light, there was no King-beyond-the-Wall or wolves or dragons. Or Others, or Jon Snow.

Sam wrapped his head in his scarf, still in worry as to what the Eddard Stark wanted with him. He didn’t want to be out here, in the forest. He didn’t want to be sat with Lord Stark. His heart was beating fast in his chest.

Most of his brothers were already up, gathering their sleeping furs and watering their mounts for a day’s heavy ride. Cook fires were scattered amongst the tents and trees, bundles of men sat around them to break their fast on hunted boar and stale black bread, with wineskins to swallow it all down.

Lord Eddard’s tent was smaller than the King’s, but bigger than the Lord Commanders. Two of his guards stood outside and parted as Samwell approached them, the action made him stop and hesitate, though he quickly resumed and pushed through the leather flaps.

“M-my lord.” Samwell said as he entered. In the top right corner laid an abundance of sleeping mats and furs, thick skins and pelts to keep the Lord warm. A kettle fire burned to the left, over it was an empty steel kettle, still and cold. The Lord of Stark sat still in the centre, looking over a small desk.

He waved a hand to the seat at the other side. “Sit, Samwell Tarly.”

Sam sat. The oaken stool groaned as he did, like it was going to suddenly break. Sam tried his best to ignore it, though he could feel heat filling his face.

“Do not look so weary, Sam.” Eddard said slowly. Even so early in the morning he was dressed like a strong lord. A cobalt woollen tunic under brown boiled leather, with iron studs around a belt and a huge wolfskin cloak that was settled amongst his sleeping mats. He was of the North, and the Northmen were better with the cold than he was. Sam despised the cold.

“W-what is it that y-you have need of m-me? My lord.” Sam asked him

Eddard Stark cleared his throat before speaking. “You tend to the ravens, do you not?”

Yes, but only because Maester Aemon is too old to be out with us, and Clydas can’t write as good as I. “I-I do, my lord.”

“Then I would need one of your ravens it seems, to deliver a message.” Eddard spoke with dull courtesy.

“What message?” The words slipped out of Samwell Tarly’s mouth. No, what are you doing? You fool! His heart began to beat all the faster, the flush turning his skin beet-red. Sam would’ve apologized once and twice and thrice, and even more after that. But he remained quiet.

“You need not know its contents, all you have to do is deliver the message to Castle Black.” Eddard pulled out a parchment, old and frayed. It was already sealed with the grey direwolf of House Stark. Sam eyed it carefully, for a moment the silence brewed and walls closed in around him.

“That is all.” Eddard Stark said, leaning back in his chair and bringing a hand to stroke his beard.

“Yes, yes, my lord.” Sam rose, the stool even croaked as he left it. He was desperate for air, for the cold to cleanse the heat from his face. He took the letter in hand and turned to the exit.

“Samwell.” Lord Stark called his name before he could make his leave. Oh no, what else does he want?

“Yes, m-my lord?”

“It’s better that you tell no one of this letter, not even your brothers, or your King. Send it as soon as you can. Can I trust you to do that?”

The Night’s Watch takes no part, Sam heard a voice say in his mind. If _the_ King demanded anything of Samwell Tarly, he was not sure he had it in him to disobey. The small letter suddenly seemed heavy in his hand, weighing him down. “Yes, I’ll send the raven now. No one else will know, I-I promise.”

**_ JON _ **

The three men-at-arms didn’t do well enough to hide a tinge of fear when Jon asked for weapons and armour, Ser Trevas Ryswell the master-at-arms brought him a blunted sword and oaken shield studded with iron bearings.

The yards were empty but for him, Ser Barristan, Ser Trevas and the three guards. They had been sparring against each other when Jon and Barristan came upon them. They watched the clatter of blunted swords as the pale morning light grew brighter, the city woke slowly and the sounds of the city began to creep into the Red Keep.

Trevas was scolding their technique, when they caught eye of the two Queensguard they stopped and stared. That was when Jon asked for armament.

Karl, Rylon and Bracks were their names.

“Three against one, unfair the way I see it.” The middle one said, Rylon. He looked to his fellows for reassurance. Do not look to them, Jon thought, they will not help you. Jon donned a halfhelm and wrapped his hand through the straps of his shield. Ser Barristan stood beside Ser Trevas and watched, curious to see how this would unfold.

At the right stood Bracks, the tallest. Short of face and blonde of hair. In his left arm was a blunted longsword and in his right a beaten and dinted shield, he was heavy on his blows and quick to tire; but adequate at long distances, Jon had noticed watching him. Karl and Rylon mirrored each other in their swordsmanship, both grasped short-swords and heavy shields and both quick at short distances, impatient with the opponent. 

“True. Come.” Jon said, and then Rylon smirked and lunged forward. The man raised his sword high, groaning with force and drove it down with all the power he could. Jon lifted his shield above his head and wood met steel, a clatter bouncing through the yards. His opponent staggered as his blade rattled. Crouched, Jon whipped his blade against Rylon’s right leg and plunged the blunted point into his stomach, pushing the air from his lungs.

“War will not be fair.” Jon said as the man toppled to the floor, he bit his lip to hide his winces. “And you’re a dead man.”

Steps echoed off the ground, Jon knew that the others were on him. The tall one at the right struck at Jon’s left with the longsword, Jon deflected the strike easily – albeit a shudder that numbed his left arm. With his right Jon smacked his blade against Bracks’ sword arm and sent him footing backwards with a kick. By the time he turned, Karl was already lunging to strike him. Jon raised his shoulder high, Karl’s shout loud in his ears. The short-sword plunged through the air and then was trapped as Jon lowered his shield arm once more, wedging the blade still with all his strength. Jon saw the realisation reach his eyes, yes, you are not getting out of this.

Jon smacked his blade against Karl’s halfhelm, ringing in it like a bell. As he gasped, the Lord Commander of the Queensguard released his grip and pounded his shield against him, sending Karl clattering to the trodden dirt. 

He managed to catch a few breaths, sweat was already forming on his brow and he could hear the throb of his own heart. Then, a sharp pain spread from his right shoulder. It was Rylon, he’d forgotten about Rylon. Why did I forget about him? And that strike will bruise.

Jon turned with his shield in full force, the iron lining deflected Rylon’s next blow, scraping with a _hissss_. “I’m not used to dead rising again to fight.” Jon said as he circled him. Relief shot in his eyes, Jon saw it, and he saw the pale reflection of movement of Rylon’s helm. He was quick enough to turn and parry Bracks’ blow, though the movement brought him back into the reach of Rylon.

Then Jon realised, the weakness. They wouldn’t expect this, they couldn’t. They both treaded slowly towards him with their swords held out before them, waiting for him to move. Jon loosed his left hand from the grips of his shield and brought it back with his all strength, confusion shot over Bracks eyes, which then turned to fear, and then pain. The shield whistled in the air and met Bracks’ knees with a _crack._ He cursed and fell, dropping his longsword.

Rylon was no longer looking at him, he was staring at the shield that Jon had threw. Jon struck his calve, then his hip and then his shield arm, all in a blurry dance of blows. Rylon fell, flinching on the ground with Bracks and Karl.

Jon removed his halfhelm and dropped it to the floor. The morning was light but cold and grey, which helped relieve him of his sweat. Ser Barristan smiled as he approached him.

“Well fought.” He said with a pat on the shoulder. Jon shook his head. No, I could’ve done better. I should have done it quicker.

“An unfamiliar move, if I may say, my lord.” Ser Trevas said as he approached the three men, two were at their knees now – one was not. Jon flexed his sword hand.

War is never fair, those who fight do what they must to draw breath any longer. “I was certain it would be.”

Trevas lifted up Rylon and Karl, who bobbed their heads and hunched back into the barracks. Bracks still laid on his stomach, his blonde hair stained with mud. He scowled and cursed as Ser Trevan tried to lift him to his feet, his legs shook rapidly, and he fell.

“He won’t be training for another fortnight.” Ser Barristan said as Jon removed his gauntlets.

He won’t, the iron of the shield would’ve shattered him. “They needed to be blooded.”

Jon took his leave then. Returning to his chambers, he found Ghost was no longer resting below the hearth. The drapes had been pulled back and the bland morning light etched the shadows into the corners of the bedchamber. Jon could see King’s Landing from his balcony, he could see it all.

He had his duties for the rest of the day, Ser Loras Tyrell and Ser Balon Swann were with the Queen on the morn, though Jon would be with her for the appointments. And then the night duty, he wasn’t sure whether he should await that with dread or happiness.

Jon changed his smallclothes, the others were sticky and sweaty from the fighting. His right shoulder was bruising as he expected, quick to shudder pain through him at the lightest touch. Jon laid out of his armour atop his bed and began applying it, with each piece, his thoughts turned to Daenerys, where even now he could still see her taking it off of him.

You have dishonoured her, you have dishonoured yourself. Jon clasped his White Cloak about his shoulders with the two silver direwolf pins, sighing. If it was wrong, then why had the gods sought to make it feel so good? Why had they made him love her? He didn’t want to marry her, father children, he only wanted her for himself, it was wrong and he knew it.

A knock sprung from his chamber door, saving him from his thoughts.

“Come in.”

The door opened with a high screech and in came Bran Stark, his own squire. His Tully coloured hair was bouncing from his shoulders, he wore a grey woollen tunic with black breeches. A cape of grey fell to the back of his knees, he’s a Stark for everything but his hair and eyes. Bran eyed Longclaw sheathed along the bed sheets and beside it his helm.

“I can do the armour.” Jon told him before Bran made to reach for it. “Find me Ghost, if you will.”

Bran nodded and turned back out of the door. Jon wondered how he was fairing, he would have to ask him when he could. And Sansa. Brienne had taken a liking to her, and Jon more oft than not spotted her in the Queen’s attendance in court. She was given a stout chamber rightful of her high birth with two handmaids to tend to her own needs, though still as it was when he was a boy, they seemed to seldom speak.

Jon strapped Longclaw around his back, rather than at his belt, the pommel poked just over his shoulder. It was not how he usually wore his sword, though the length of the bastard-blade was sometimes too inconvenient to carry at the belt, especially through a day of petitions.

When he entered the Great Hall, with Ghost and Bran at his back, Daenerys was already sat on the Iron Throne with her crimson crown, wrought into the shape of three dragons. Ser Loras Tyrell and Tyrion were stood at the foot of the throne, and her little herald Missandei stood awaiting at a dais on the left, ready to announce her petitioners. Jon took his place to the right of Ser Loras, aware of the gaze that the Queen shot him on his entrance. Ghost settled down beside him, letting out a soft groan. Even he is tired to face the long day of court. Bran sat down beside the direwolf and stroked his fingers through the snowy bristles.

Dany gestured her guards, and the doors of the Great Hall boomed open.

First came a farmer from beyond the walls of the capital, claiming that thieves had stolen half his grain and stamped his crop. Then a commonfolk who was unsatisfied with the underweight bread she was sold, claiming the stall should be taken down and the keeper thrown in the dungeons. Afterwards came another farmer, and then another, then from the Street of Steel came four armourers who requested loans of coin to meet the high demands of armament required for the tourney, five from Pisswater Bend, claiming that a plague was spreading, more farmers, then from the Street of Flour, Muddy way, Flea Bottom and Reeking Lane, brothel keepers from the Street of Silk and even more farmers.

“How many more?” Dany asked Missandei after a few hours.

“Thirty-five, Your Grace. If it please I can-”

“No, I will hear them all.”

And more came. Jon knew what she really wanted to hear, if any of them had spotted Drogon. But, what good could that be? Dragons were fire, and fire was death.

Bran Stark still sat beside him, stroking Ghost’s fur. The direwolf earned quick and shocked glances from those he came to announce their case, though soon enough they were taken up by the Queen. Though Ghost hardly seemed to care.

“This is the most of it.” Jon told Bran as a minor break ensued, Dany would take small moments to have her food and discuss the matters that were brought up before she called in the next.

“Even here?” Bran asked him. “Who would hurt her here? On the Iron Throne?”

“Those who wear a crown are never safe, Bran.” Jon told him, it was Barristan who had said that to him in the past. It was true for all Jon learned. Even in days of court he would stand ready to defend his Queen at any moment, never safe, never safe. As the Queen talked to her petitioners, Jon would watch and think. Where were their hands? A hidden blade? Their size, height and age? What could he do to stop them if they made to attack? How could he protect the Queen, how could he protect himself? That was why he preferred Ghost to be with him, he could sniff out an enemy behind their smiles and facades.  

Though there was seldom any dislike towards the Queen in court, she listened, thought and in Jon’s mind gave them the best answers. She helped those who needed it. Jon found himself often listening to their stories, each one of them. He thought of his own judgments, how he would reply to those in need. Though I cannot grow distracted, those who wear a crown are never safe.

When the rest of the thirty-five were done, the Queen let out a long sigh.

“I think the Iron Throne would require some pillows.” She said as he descended the steps, lifting her crown from her head.

“I’ll see to it.” Ser Loras Tyrell smiled as she reached the bottom.

“A jape, ser. How ridiculous I would look? They would laugh as they entered.”

She was right. The Iron Throne was monstrous and barbed from very swords that Aegon the Conqueror took as he came upon the Seven Kingdoms, it would look hideous to be flashed with pillows.

“Bran, you can go back to your chambers now, if you like. We’ll do our training on the morrow.” Jon told his squire before he followed Dany across the Great Hall, their footsteps echoing around the enormous pillars. It had grown dark outside, though the hour was not yet so late. Those men and women of court still stood about the halls, talking to the others and bowing their heads as the Queen crossed them.

Jon relieved Ser Loras before they could reach Dany’s chambers, albeit some resistance.

“My lord, allow me this night duty. The lord commander should be able through the day-”

“An order, ser.” Jon had told him.

He would watch her door through the night, sleep through the day, and so and so. The knight nodded and turned, his White Cloak swaying behind him. Loras was a match for Jon in combat, they were all as good as each other, Jon knew, a good lord must know his men, Ned had told him, and he was the Lord Commander. Though each one of them bettered in some area. The Queensguard were full of great fighters once again, yet no one seemed to care all that much anymore. Any knight can stand a guard, though their deeds would speak truer than their words. Their valour proven only in battle.

“Your Grace.” Jon swept to a stance beside her door, his hands beside him and Longclaw strapped around his back. The Queen stopped, looked around her shoulder to see if anyone was close.

There was no one.

“Later,” she said as the she pushed open the door. “When the castle sleeps.”

Then she was gone, Jon watched as the light from her chambers slipped away as the doors boomed shut. He stood silent and still, listening to the voices from the inside. He could hear Dany’s voice, as sweet as when she says his name when he’s inside her. As he stood there, his musings began to cause stirrings in him. Better not, Jon thought, sucking in his breath.

Though when he stopped he thought about Robb and the Wall and Eddard, where were they now? Still at the Wall, or returning? Had they dared venture beyond the Wall? No, Robb wouldn’t do that, he knows better. He must know better.

Many passed him as he stood beside the Queen’s chamber doors, huge things, onyx and carved with dragons. Those that did come by paid him no heed, he was just another guard, behind a helm, a face empty and with a sword on him, the only difference was the White Cloak. Her ladies-in-waiting passed by, with men and women both at their heels. Second and third born sons who had come to court, firstborns and even the lords themselves. Jon learnt that Ashlanna Middlebury was bedding both a knight and a lord, each one of them showering her with gifts, and that Ser Trevas despised the Hand, and the Hand despised him also. He knew that Eyla on the Street of Silk charged too much for her whoring, though she had blooming-blonde hair and huge ocean-blue eyes almost purple that men couldn’t resist. Nobody cared to hush their words around him, they hardly noticed him. But, who listens to everything and hears nothing?

Eventually, Ghost strolled down to him, let out a small snarl, sat and then began to snore. The talks hushed then, when they caught site of the direwolf. Jon smiled and stood still once more.

And waited, slowly the wanderings of those in the keep came to an end. The sounds grew fainter and then eventually stopped, Jon knew that the castle slept… but Dany did not.

One of the doors opened when he was leant back against the other, with his eyes and closed and thoughts on sleep.

“Jon?” Dany patted his shoulder, lightly yet firm. He opened his eyes slowly, the light of the torch beside him blinding. He hadn’t actually fallen to sleep, at least he didn’t think he had.

She walked back into her chambers, Jon followed. He couldn’t see her handmaidens or anybody else inside for that matter, Ghost remained outside the door, snoring softly. It was when they echoed shut did she speak.

“Eat.” Dany gestured at some food on the table, bread and mutton on a platter with a flagon of wine to wash it down. Jon wasn’t hungry, though he swung Longclaw from around his back and sat at the table, resting the sword along his lap. Tell her, quickly, tell her.

“You’re tired.” She said as she came towards him, lifting his helm off of his head and setting it down at the table.

You have to. “Yes, I used to be able t-”

She kissed him.

Jon nearly dropped Longclaw when their lips met, he caught the scabbard in his sword hand rested it down to the floor. He could taste wine on her tongue, a slight burning tint.

Jon drew back. “Not here, you-we could be caught.” He had gotten a good look around the chamber when he entered, but the Queen had other rooms, who was to say every single one of them was empty?

She nuzzled their noses, breaths mingling and said. “I want you,” when she opened her eyes, her look was daring him to argue. “I don’t care where. Here.”

He wanted her too, desperately, it should’ve shamed him more, that he would lay with her even now in what looked to be a dining room. The shutters to the square garden in the centre were closed, the hearth dimly lit, each door beside the entrance barred, but Jon was still worrisome.

Yet even so, in a quick blur of movements she was sat upon the table with her skirts pried upwards, and Jon was brought back to realisation when he felt the warm spread in him as he entered her, it returned his senses yet sent him into a bliss all the same. Daenerys rolled her hips to meet his thrusts, her legs and arms both wrapped around him. His face was burning hot, shame festering in his gut as he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Her hair was in tangles down her shoulders and back, her moans graceful music that played over his ears. She was already wet when they began and sopping when they were finished, Jon spent his seed with a groan as he watched her bite her lip and pry into him.

They had settled down in the bedchamber then, Jon had left his helm and his cloak and his armour and his sword all around the floor in the other room, there to be seen by anyone who might’ve entered. The bed smelled of her, he smelled of her, all the sweetest scents that he’d ever known. He watched Dany undress, the sight altogether made him hard again, when she noticed she had padded over to him, flung back the silks and mounted him to the point where he could not tell whether he was inside of her, or her inside of him.

Afterwards, as they laid amongst the tangles of jet and crimson sheets. Dany traced her hand over every scar she could see on his chest, and made him tell her the stories of each one. She had left the biggest one until last.

“The Mountain that rides..” Jon said, his head against the pillows with his eyes closed, though he could still notice which one she had traced her finger over, the feeling sent a cold shiver through his stomach.

“You defeated him alone? I can’t entirely remember.” Dany’s voice sounded so innocent, for a moment Jon was lost in the imagination that they were husband and wife, and doing no wrong.

“No, the others were with me. And Rhaegal. Are you sure you cannot remember? He was garrisoned at Maidenpool, he had raided and killed those there. We came upon him with a smaller party than his own, but managed.”

“Yes, I remember now. Ser Barristan had told me, when you couldn’t leave your chambers.” Dany stroked her hand to his cheek, her fingers nestling in his short beard of black. “He killed my brother’s wife, Elia, and raped her. And Rhaenys and little Aegon. My brothers own son, he killed my brothers son.”

You are laying with your brother’s son, you are talking to your brother’s son.

Tell her, tell her, she deserves to know.

Jon opened his eyes, she met his gaze. Her eyes were a peculiar shade of purple in the dark, the candle had guttered long ago, and her hair was like a streaming grey.

“I’m glad you killed him.” She said.

I’m am too, though I would’ve preferred to finish him without such a scar to be a mark of it. Jon looked past the carved gaps in the shutters to the garden, the night sky was black and scattered with stars – each one of them staring through the cracks at him. Jon knew they had time left, yet he had an urge to stand and dress and leave, to stand outside her door like a Queensguard should and never shoot her second glance in anything more than duty. It nagged at him constantly, never ending.

“Go to sleep, my white knight.” Dany ran her hand over him, placed her head down on his chest and seemed to drift off in moments. Dream happy dreams, my Queen, for I do not. He reached down for the sleeping silks, pulled them back over her skin to keep her warm.

You have to go, Jon told himself as he stared at the stars through the shutters, you cannot stay. Yet he was asleep quicker than he had ever been before.

He dreamt a different dream.

He was in the hall, each light had become a shadow and each sound a silence. The tall onyx doors loomed over him, the Queen’s chambers, he realised. The carvings seemed to move, slivering in a dance with dragons, like water rippling on an ocean. He tried to shout but only howls left his throat, quiet howls forlorn and filled with sadness. Then the door fell to naught, drifting into a mist to ascend to the sky.

He was running through a forest, with the taste of blood in his mouth. He was a wolf again.

Great oak soldier pines and sentinels surrounded him, mist clung heavily to the leaves at his paws. He could smell the freshest and sweetest scent, his mouth was watering. Get out, a voice whispered, half-human half-howl. He was not wanted here, suddenly his mind was filled with emptiness, despair. He howled and howled and howled again, each cry bouncing from tree to tree to disappear into the night. He sensed a loneliness, a fear in his mind. Out, a voice urged, out, out, out.

The mists grew higher, thicker and suddenly a cold ice stuck to his paws. It crept up his bristles and soon enough enveloped him, the mists, a blanket of grey over his eyes.

A screech echoed in his ears, loud and ripping and booming. The leaves and mud below him slipped and down the mists descended, he was falling, falling. Then the mist broke through, swiping past him with a _swoosh._ He could feel heat stirring in his belly, through his squinted eyes the ground rose up to meet him. He was high, up and up and up and up again. Higher than the mountains, higher than the clouds. He could see a valley below, stretching as far as he could see.

Fly, fly. The screech ripped from his throat once again, and Jon's eyes shot open.

Sweat clung to his skin and beaded on his brow, he was flushed red and hot to the touch. I’m burning like fire. Jon could taste stale ash in his mouth, and blood. Yet the chambers were dark, the hearth a black pit across the room and the only candle had guttered long ago.  

Jon reached for the goblet of wine by the bed, it was dead-cold but he drank, moved it around his mouth and swallowed, the taste of ash and blood went with it.

He was sat on the edge of the bed when Dany woke, “Jon?” She wiped the sleep from her eyes. “Are you well? Is there something wrong? Someone..”

“No,” Jon wiped the sweat from his brow. “A dream, nothing more. It’s about time I was gone, go back to sleep.”

His efforts did little to convince her, she pressed her hand to his shoulder and felt the heat. “You’re burning up.”

Jon shook his head and reached for his breeches, “The cold air is what I need. Go on, to sleep.” He yanked them up his legs. It was past the hour of the wolf, soon enough dawn would be breaking. He could see her amethyst eyes in the dark, which was enough for him to know.

“There’s time enough, stay.” Dany pulled the coverlet over her breasts, though her face was bare and pleading. “I can get you some cold water, to cool you down.”

Jon had to go, his skin was boiling, though his stomach was even worse. He was going to wretch. He had to get out. “Sleep, you have a busy day ahead of you.” Jon pulled his smalltop over his head, the cloth latching to his sweaty skin. He leant over the bed to where Dany sat, kissed her lightly until she wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him closer, the sheet dropping to her waist. Jon was tempted again, aroused and wanting to stay, though he stepped back all the same, opening his sword hand and closing it.

He smiled one last time before turning, don’t look back. If he did turn his head, saw her pale naked skin where he had been holding her, her eyes blooming in the pale light – he would’ve stayed. He knew it, and so he hastened his pace. It was not his duty to bed Queens, never his duty, yet he knew that when he started it, when he had lain with her in the godswood, and he did it all the same. It was Robb’s duty as the King, _watch her,_ he had said, _make sure she’s safe._ He said to keep her safe, not to fuck her, not to love her. He didn't know whether he could ever look at Robb again, without a mass of guilt. Some would say he was the luckiest soul there was, to be with the Dragon Queen, the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, others would disagree. In truth, he was both.

He would’ve lived that night over and over, he didn’t ever want to leave that room, deep down, not ever. But his life was not a dream, no, his dreams were filled with his own screams and now wolves. When Jon stepped out into the hall, with his White Cloak hanging from his back and Longclaw in its scabbard, Ghost was awake and staring at him with his blood-red eyes.

“Ghost, with me.” Jon bounded for Great Hall where guards stood day and night, he gave two of them orders to watch the Queen’s doors; hiding his burning and sweating face behind his helm. He did not retire to his regular chambers, instead he walked out into the night, letting the cold cool his skin and ease his stomach. He was soon enough in the White Sword Tower, up in the Lord Commander’s apartments with his face buried in the white sheets of his bed.

He was still heating up, he had only removed his helm since entering. The White Cloak spread across his back. Though if he rose to fetch water, or visit the privy to heave, he would release his spew all over himself before he could make it.

Instead, he closed his eyes and let what cold air drifting through the apartments sweep across his brow.

Sleep took him with the taste of ash and blood in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you.  
> This chapter was just mainly to just warm you up to King's Landing a bit, quite short for my liking but it would've been delayed significantly if I was to extend it. Chap 10, I will most likely get a good idea written in that one - but I seem to just write some things further and find it better to leave until next chapter, we'll see.  
> I'm looking for a possible beta, discuss ideas, help planning and pre-reading, good knowledge on asoiaf, if so, chuck us a message.  
> Comments are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, thanks for reading!
> 
> Lemme explain this alternate universe to you then. Daenerys arrived from across the Narrow Sea and took the Iron Throne 3 years before this is set. Robb was the one who was betrothed to the Queen reluctantly, the Starks have a lot more power and men in this. And once King he requested his brother relieved from the Night's Watch and brought him to Kings Landing. There he has stayed for 3 years and has become the Lord Commander of the Queensguard.


End file.
